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"It  Means,  AloxsuaK,  That  There  Are  More  LEsrEuoxs  Than 
One  in  France"  {t>a(]c  125) 


QII|p  Bifitoriral  Snmanrrfl  of  Safari  &abattnt 

BARDELYS 

THE  MAGNinCENT 


Being  an  Account  of  the  Strange  Wooing 
pursued  ^3;  the  Sieur  Marcel  de  Saint-Pol, 
Marquis  of  Bardelys,  and  of  the  things 
that  in  the  course  of  it  hefell  him  in  Lan- 
guedoCf  in  the  year  of  the  RSellion 


McKINLAY,  STONE  &  MACKENZIE 
NEW  YORK 


COPyUGBT,  I9OS,  BY  C.  AKTHUS  PEAKSOM,  LTD 
ALL  RIGHTS  RKSEKVBD 


AI  MIEI   GENITORI 


8594S9 


CONTENTS 

I.  The  Wager  3 

II.  The  King's  Wishes  17 

III.  Rene  de  Lesperon  23 

IV.  A  Maid  in  the  Moonlight  32 
V.  The  Vicomte  de  Lave  dan  45 

VI.  In  Convalescence  57 

VII.  The  Hostility  of  Saint-Eustache  71 

VIII.  The  Portrait  96 

IX.  A  Night  Alarm  106 

X.  The  Risen  Dead  I2I 

XI.  The  King's  Commissioner  134 

XII.  The  Tribunal  of  Toulouse  145 

XIII.  The  Eleventh  Hour  163 

XIV.  Eavesdropping  174 
XV.  Monsieur  DE  Chatellerault  is  Angrv        186 

XVI.  Swords!  197 

XVII.  The  Babbling  of  Ganymede  209 

XVIII.  Saint-Eustache  is  Obstinate  222 

XIX.  The  Flint  and  the  Steel  236 


vm  CONTENTS 

XX.  The  "Bravi"  at  Blagnac  255 

XXI.  Louis  the  Just  270 

XXII.  We  Unsaddle  281 


BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 


BARDELYS 
THE  MAGNIFICENT 


CHAPTER  I 
THE  WAGER 

SPEAK  of  the  Devil,"  whispered  La  Fosse  in  my 
ear,  and,  moved  by  the  words  and  by  the  signifi- 
cance of  his  glance,  I  turned  in  my  chair. 

The  door  had  opened,  and  under  the  lintel  stood  the 
thick-set  figure  of  the  Comte  de  Chatellerault.  Be- 
fore him  a  lacquey  in  my  escutcheoned  livery  of  red- 
and-gold  was  receiving,  with  back  obsequiously  bent, 
his  hat  and  cloak. 

A  sudden  hush  fell  upon  the  assembly  where  a 
moment  ago  this  very  man  had  been  the  subject  of  our 
talk,  and  silenced  were  the  wits  that  but  an  instant 
since  had  been  making  free  with  his  name  and  turning 
the  Languedoc  courtship  —  from  which  he  was  newly 
returned  with  the  shame  of  defeat  —  into  a  subject  for 
heartless  mockery  and  jest.  Surprise  was  in  the  air, 
for  we  had  heard  that  Chatellerault  was  crushed  by 
his  ill-fortune  in  the  lists  of  Cupid,  and  we  had  not 
looked  to  see  him  joining  so  soon  a  board  at  which  — 
or  so  at  least  I  boasted  —  mirth  presided. 

And  so  for  a  little  space  the  Count  stood  pausing  on 
my  threshold,  whilst  we  craned  our  necks  to  contem- 
plate him  as  though  he  had  been  an  object  for  inquisi- 


4  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

tive  inspection.  Then  a  smothered  laugh  from  the 
brainless  La  Fosse  seemed  to  break  the  spell.  I 
frowned.  It  was  a  climax  of  discourtesy  whose  im- 
pression I  must  at  all  costs  efface. 

I  leapt  to  my  feet,  with  a  suddenness  that  sent  my 
chair  gliding  a  full  half-yard  along  the  glimmering 
parquet  of  the  floor,  and  in  two  strides  I  had  reached 
the  Count  and  put  forth  my  hand  to  bid  him  wel- 
come. He  took  it  with  a  leisureliness  that  argued 
sorrow.  He  advanced  into  the  full  blaze  of  the  candle- 
light, and  fetched  a  dismal  sigh  from  the  depths  of  his 
portly  bulk. 

"You  are  surprised  to  see  me.  Monsieur  le  Mar- 
quis," said  he,  and  his  tone  seemed  to  convey  an  apol- 
ogy for  his  coming  —  for  his  very  existence  almost. 

Now  Nature  had  made  my  Lord  of  Chatellerault  as 
proud  and  arrogant  as  Lucifer  —  some  resemblance 
to  which  illustrious  personage  his  downtrodden  re- 
tainers were  said  to  detect  in  the  lineaments  of  his 
swarthy  face.  Environment  had  added  to  that  store 
of  insolence  wherewith  Nature  had  equipped  him,  and 
the  King's  favour  —  in  which  he  was  my  rival  —  had 
gone  yet  further  to  mould  the  peacock  attributes  of 
his  vain  soul.  So  that  this  wondrous  humble  tone  of 
his  gave  me  pause;  for  to  me  it  seemed  that  not  even  a 
courtship  gone  awry  could  account  for  it  in  such  a 
man. 

"I  had  not  thought  to  find  so  many  here,"  said  he. 
And  his  next  words  contained  the  cause  of  his  dejected 
air.  "The  King,  Monsieur  de  Bardelys,  has  refused  to 
see  me ;  and  when  the  sun  is  gone,  we  lesser  bodies  of  the 
courtly  firmament  must  needs  turn  for  light  and  com- 
fort to  the  moon."  And  he  made  me  a  sweeping  bow. 


THE  WAGER  5 

"Meaning  that  I  rule  the  night?"  quoth  I,  and 
laughed.  "The  figure  is  more  playful  than  exact,  for 
whilst  the  moon  is  cold  and  cheerless,  me  you  shall  find 
ever  warm  and  cordial.  I  could  have  wished,  Mon- 
sieur de  Chatellerault,  that  your  gracing  my  board 
were  due  to  a  circumstance  less  untoward  than  His 
Majesty's  displeasure." 

"It  is  not  for  nothing  that  they  call  you  the  Mag- 
nificent," he  answered,  with  a  fresh  bow,  insensible  to 
the  sting  in  the  tail  of  my  honeyed  words. 

I  laughed,  and,  setting  compliments  to  rest  with 
that,  I  led  him  to  the  table. 

"Ganymede,  a  place  here  for  Monsieur  le  Comte. 
Gilles,  Antoine,  see  to  Monsieur  de  Chatellerault. 
Basile,  wine  for  Monsieur  le  Comte.  Bestir  there!" 

In  a  moment  he  was  become  the  centre  of  a  very 
turmoil  of  attention.  My  lacqueys  flitted  about  him 
buzzing  and  insistent  as  bees  about  a  rose.  Would 
Monsieur  taste  of  this  capon  a  la  casserole,  or  of  this 
trufHed  peacock?  Would  a  slice  of  this  juicy  ham  a 
I'anglaise  tempt  Monsieur  le  Comte,  or  would  he  give 
himself  the  pain  of  trying  this  turkey  aux  olives  ?  Here 
was  a  salad  whose  secret  Monsieur  le  Marquis's  cook 
had  learnt  in  Italy,  and  here  a  vol-au-vent  that  was 
invented  by  Quelon  himself. 

Basile  urged  his  wines  upon  him,  accompanied  by  a 
page  who  bore  a  silver  tray  laden  with  beakers  and 
flagons.  Would  Monsieur  le  Comte  take  white 
Armagnac  or  red  Anjou?  This  was  a  Burgundy  of 
which  Monsieur  le  Marquis  thought  highly,  and  this  a 
deHcate  Lombardy  wine  that  His  Majesty  had  oft 
commended.  Or  perhaps  Monsieur  de  Chatellerault 
would  prefer  to  taste  the  last  vintage  of  Bardelys? 


6  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

And  so  they  plagued  him  and  bewildered  him  until 
his  choice  was  made;  and  even  then  a  couple  of  them 
held  themselves  in  readiness  behind  his  chair  to  fore- 
stall his  slightest  want.  Indeed,  had  he  been  the  very- 
King  himself,  no  greater  honour  could  we  have  shown 
him  at  the  Hotel  de  Bardelys. 

But  the  restraint  that  his  coming  had  brought  with 
it  hung  still  upon  the  company,  for  Chatellerault  was 
little  loved,  and  his  presence  there  was  much  as  that 
of  the  skull  at  an  Egyptian  banquet. 

For  of  all  these  fair-weather  friends  that  sat  about 
my  table  —  amongst  whom  there  were  few  that  had 
not  felt  his  power  —  I  feared  there  might  be  scarcely 
one  would  have  the  grace  to  dissemble  his  contempt  of 
the  fallen  favourite.  That  he  was  fallen,  as  much  his 
words  as  what  already  we  had  known,  had  told  us. 

Yet  in  my  house  I  would  strive  that  he  should  have 
no  foretaste  of  that  coldness  that  to-morrow  all  Paris 
would  be  showing  him,  and  to  this  end  I  played  the 
host  with  all  the  graciousness  that  role  may  bear,  and 
overwhelmed  him  with  my  cordiality,  whilst  to  thaw 
all  iciness  from  the  bearing  of  my  other  guests,  I  set 
the  wines  to  flow  more  freely  still.  My  dignity  would 
permit  no  less  of  me,  else  would  it  have  seemed  that  I 
rejoiced  in  a  rival's  downfall  and  took  satisfaction 
from  the  circumstance  that  his  disfavour  with  the 
King  was  like  to  result  in  my  own  further  exaltation. 

My  efforts  were  not  wasted.  Slowly  the  mellowing 
influence  of  the  grape  pronounced  itself.  To  this  in- 
fluence I  added  that  of  such  wit  as  Heaven  has  graced 
me  with,  and  by  a  word  here  and  another  there  I  set 
myself  to  lash  their  mood  back  into  the  joviality  out 
of  which  his  coming  had  for  the  moment  driven  it. 


THE  WAGER  7 

And  so,  presently,  Good-Humour  spread  her  mantle 
over  us  anew,  and  quip  and  jest  and  laughter  decked 
our  speech,  until  the  noise  of  our  merry-making  drift- 
ing out  through  the  open  windows  must  have  been 
borne  upon  the  breeze  of  that  August  night  down  the 
rue  Saint-Dominique,  across  the  rue  de  I'Enfer,  to  the 
very  ears  perhaps  of  those  within  the  Luxembourg, 
telling  them  that  Bardelys  and  his  friends  kept  an- 
other of  those  revels  which  were  become  a  byword  in 
Paris,  and  had  contributed  not  a  little  to  the  sobriquet 
of  "Magnificent"  which  men  gave  me. 

But,  later,  as  the  toasts  grew  wild  and  were  pledged 
less  for  the  sake  of  the  toasted  than  for  that  of  the 
wine  itself,  wits  grew  more  barbed  and  less  restrained 
by  caution ;  recklessness  hung  a  moment,  like  a  bird  of 
prey,  above  us,  then  swooped  abruptly  down  in  the 
words  of  that  fool  La  Fosse. 

"Messieurs,"  he  lisped,  with  that  fatuousness  he 
affected,  and  with  his  eye  fixed  coldly  upon  Chatelle- 
rault,  "I  have  a  toast  for  you."  He  rose  carefully  to 
his  feet  —  he  had  arrived  at  that  condition  in  which 
to  move  with  care  is  of  the  first  importance.  He 
shifted  his  eye  from  the  Count  to  his  glass,  which 
stood  half  empty.  He  signed  to  a  lacquey  to  fill  it. 
"To  the  brim,  gentlemen,"  he  commanded.  Then,  in 
the  silence  that  ensued,  he  attempted  to  stand  with 
one  foot  on  the  ground  and  one  on  his  chair;  but  en- 
countering difficulties  of  balance,  he  remained  up- 
right —  safer  if  less  picturesque. 

"Messieurs,  I  give  you  the  most  peerless,  the  most 
beautiful,  the  most  difficult  and  cold  lady  in  all  France. 
I  drink  to  those  her  thousand  graces,  of  which  Fame 
has  told  us,  and  to  that  greatest  and  most  vexing 


8  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

charm  of  all  —  her  cold  indifference  to  man.  I  pledge 
you,  too,  the  swain  whose  good  fortune  it  may  be  to 
play  Endymion  to  this  Diana. 

"It  will  need,"  pursued  La  Fosse,  who  dealt  much 
in  mythology  and  classic  lore — "it  will  need  an 
Adonis  in  beauty,  a  Mars  in  valour,  an  Apollo  in  song, 
and  a  very  Eros  in  love  to  accomplish  it.  And  I  fear 
me,"  he  hiccoughed,  "  that  it  will  go  unaccomplished 
since  the  one  man  in  all  France  on  whom  we  had 
based  our  hopes  has  failed.  Gentlemen,  to  your  feet! 
I  give  you  the  matchless  Roxalanne  de  Lavedan!" 

Such  amusement  as  I  felt  was  tempered  by  appre- 
hension, I  shot  a  swift  glance  at  Chatellerault  to 
mark  how  he  took  this  pleasantry  and  this  pledging 
of  the  lady  whom  the  King  had  sent  him  to  woo,  but 
whom  he  had  failed  to  win.  He  had  risen  with  the 
others  at  La  Fosse's  bidding,  either  unsuspicious  or  else 
deeming  suspicion  too  flimsy  a  thing  by  which  to  steer 
conduct.  Yet  at  the  mention  of  her  name  a  scowl 
darkened  his  ponderous  countenance.  He  set  down 
his  glass  with  such  sudden  force  that  its  slender  stem 
was  snapped  and  a  red  stream  of  wine  streaked  the 
white  tablecloth  and  spread  around  a  silver  flower- 
bowl.  The  sight  of  that  stain  recalled  him  to  himself 
and  to  the  manners  he  had  allowed  himself  for  a 
moment  to  forget. 

"Bardelys,  a  thousand  apologies  for  my  clumsi- 
ness," he  muttered. 

"Spilt  wine,"  I  laughed,  "is  a  good  omen." 

And  for  once  I  accepted  that  belief,  since  but  for  the 
shedding  of  that  wine  and  its  sudden  efi^ect  upon  him, 
it  is  likely  we  had  witnessed  a  shedding  of  blood.  Thus 
was  the  ill-timed  pleasantry  of  my  feather-brained  La 


THE  WAGER  9 

Fosse  tided  over  in  comparative  safety.  But  the  topic 
being  raised  was  not  so  easily  abandoned.  Made- 
moiselle de  Lavedan  grew  to  be  openly  discussed,  and 
even  the  Count's  courtship  of  her  came  to  be  hinted 
at,  at  first  vaguely,  then  pointedly,  with  a  lack  of 
delicacy  for  which  I  can  but  blame  the  wine  with 
which  these  gentlemen  had  made  a  salad  of  their 
senses.  In  growing  alarm  I  watched  the  Count.  But 
he  showed  no  further  sign  of  irritation.  He  sat  and 
listened  as  though  no  jot  concerned.  There  were 
moments  when  he  even  smiled  at  some  lively  sally, 
and  at  last  he  went  so  far  as  to  join  in  that  merry  com- 
bat of  wits,  and  defend  himself  from  their  attacks, 
which  were  made  with  a  good-humour  that  but  thinly 
veiled  the  dislike  he  was  held  in  and  the  satisfaction 
that  was  culled  from  his  late  discomfiture. 

For  a  while  I  hung  back  and  took  no  share  in  the 
banter  that  was  toward.  But  in  the  end  —  lured  per- 
haps by  the  spirit  in  which  I  have  shown  that  Cha- 
tellerault  accepted  it,  and  lulled  by  the  wine  which  in 
common  with  my  guests  I  may  have  abused  —  I  came 
to  utter  words  but  for  which  this  story  never  had  been 
written. 

" Chatellerault,"  I  laughed,  "abandon  these  de- 
fensive subterfuges;  confess  that  you  are  but  uttering 
excuses,  and  acknowledge  that  you  have  conducted 
this  affair  with  a  clumsiness  unpardonable  in  one 
equipped  with  your  advantages  of  courtly  rearing." 

A  flush  overspread  his  face,  the  first  sign  of  anger 
since  he  had  spilled  his  wine. 

"Your  successes,  Bardelys,  render  you  vain,  and  of 
vanity  is  presumption  born,"  he  replied  contemp- 
tuously. 


lo  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

"See!"  I  cried,  appealing  to  the  company.  "Ob- 
serve how  he  seeks  to  evade  replying!  Nay,  but  you 
shall  confess  your  clumsiness." 

"A  clumsiness,"  murmured  La  Fosse  drowsily,  "as 
signal  as  that  which  attended  Pan's  wooing  of  the 
Queen  of  Lydia." 

"I  have  no  clumsiness  to  confess,"  he  answered 
hotly,  raising  his  voice.  "It  is  a  fine  thing  to  sit  here 
in  Paris,  among  the  languid,  dull,  and  nerveless 
beauties  of  the  Court,  whose  favours  are  easily  won 
because  they  look  on  dalliance  as  the  best  pastime 
offered  them,  and  are  eager  for  such  opportunities  of 
it  as  you  fleering  coxcombs  will  afford  them.  But  this 
Mademoiselle  de  Lavedan  is  of  a  vastly  different 
mettle.  She  is  a  woman;  not  a  doll.  She  is  flesh  and 
blood;  not  sawdust,  powder,  and  vermilion.  She  has  a 
heart  and  a  will;  not  a  spirit  corrupted  by  vanity  and 
licence." 

La  Fosse  burst  into  a  laugh. 

"Hark!  O,  hark!"  he  cried,  "to  the  apostle  of  the 
chaste!" 

"Saint  Gris!"  exclaimed  another.  "This  good 
Chatellerault  has  lost  both  heart  and  head  to  her." 

Chatellerault  glanced  at  the  speaker  with  an  eye  in 
which  anger  smouldered. 

"You  have  said  it,"  I  agreed.  "He  has  fallen  her 
victim,  and  so  his  vanity  translates  her  into  a  com- 
pound of  perfections.  Does  such  a  woman  as  you  have 
described  exist,  Comte?  Bah!  In  a  lover's  mind,  per- 
haps, or  in  the  pages  of  some  crack-brained  poet's 
fancies;  but  nowhere  else  in  this  dull  world  of  ours." 

He  made  a  gesture  of  impatience. 

"You  have  been  clumsy,  Chatellerault,"  I  insisted. 


THE  WAGER  11 

"You  have  lacked  address.  The  woman  does  not  live 
that  is  not  to  be  won  by  any  man  who  sets  his  mind 
to  do  it,  if  only  he  be  of  her  station  and  have  the 
means  to  maintain  her  in  it  or  raise  her  to  a  better. 
A  woman's  love,  sir,  is  a  tree  whose  root  is  vanity. 
Your  attentions  flatter  her,  and  predispose  her  to 
capitulate.  Then,  if  you  but  wisely  choose  your  time 
to  deliver  the  attack,  and  do  so  with  the  necessary 
adroitness  —  nor  is  overmuch  demanded  —  the  battle 
is  won  with  ease,  and  she  surrenders.  Believe  me, 
Chatellerault,  I  am  a  younger  man  than  you  by  full 
five  years,  yet  in  experience  I  am  a  generation  older, 
and  I  talk  of  what  I  know." 

He  sneered  heavily.  "  If  to  have  begun  your  career 
of  dalliance  at  the  age  of  eighteen  with  an  amour  that 
resulted  in  a  scandal  be  your  title  to  experience,  I 
agree,"  said  he.  "But  for  the  rest,  Bardelys,  for  all 
your  fine  talk  of  conquering  women,  believe  me  when 
I  tell  you  that  in  all  your  life  you  have  never  met  a 
woman  —  for  I  deny  the  claim  of  these  Court  crea- 
tures to  that  title.  If  you  would  know  a  woman,  go  to 
Lavedan,  Monsieur  le  Marquis.  If  you  would  have 
your  army  of  amorous  wiles  suffer  a  defeat  at  last,  go 
employ  it  against  the  citadel  of  Roxalanne  de  Lave- 
dan's  heart.  If  you  would  be  humbled  in  your  pride, 
betake  yourself  to  Lavedan." 

"A challenge! "roared  a  dozen  voices.  "A  challenge, 
Bardelys!" 

"Mais  voyons,"  I  deprecated,  with  a  laugh,  "would 
you  have  me  journey  into  Languedoc  and  play  at 
wooing  this  embodiment  of  all  the  marvels  of  woman- 
hood f"^"  the  sake  of  making  good  my  argument?  Of 
your  Ci.:,  ity,  gentlemen,  insist  no  further." 


la  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

"The  never-failing  excuse  of  the  boaster,"  sneered 
Chatellerault,  "when  desired  to  make  good  his  boast." 

"Monsieur  conceives  that  I  have  made  a  boast?" 
quoth  I,  keeping  my  temper. 

"Your  words  suggested  one  —  else  I  do  not  know 
the  meaning  of  words.  They  suggested  that  where  I 
have  failed  you  could  succeed,  if  you  had  a  mind  to 
try.  I  have  challenged  you,  Bardelys.  I  challenge  you 
again.  Go  about  this  wooing  as  you  will;  dazzle  the 
lady  with  your  wealth  and  your  magnificence,  with 
your  servants,  your  horses,  your  equipages,  and  all 
the  splendours  you  can  command;  yet  I  make  bold  to 
say  that  not  a  year  of  your  scented  attentions  and 
most  insidious  wiles  will  bear  you  fruit.  Are  you  suffi- 
ciently challenged?" 

"But  this  is  rank  frenzy!"  I  protested.  "Why 
should  I  undertake  this  thing?" 

"To  prove  me  wrong,"  he  taunted  me.  "To  prove 
me  clumsy.   Come,  Bardelys,  what  of  your  spirit?" 

"I  confess  I  would  do  much  to  afford  you  the  proof 
you  ask.  But  to  take  a  wife!  Pardi!  That  is  much  in- 
deed!" 

"Bah!"  he  sneered.  "You  do  well  to  draw  back. 
You  are  wise  to  avoid  discomfiture.  This  lady  is  not 
for  you.  When  she  is  won,  it  will  be  by  some  bold  and 
gallant  gentleman,  and  by  no  mincing  squire  of  dames, 
no  courtly  coxcomb,  no  fop  of  the  Luxembourg,  be 
his  experiences  of  dalliance  never  so  vast." 

"Po'  Cap  de  Dieu!"  growled  Cazalet,  who  was  a 
Gascon  captain  in  the  Guards,  and  who  swore  strange, 
southern  oaths.  "Up,  Bardelys!  Afoot!  Prove  your 
boldness  and  your  gallantry,  or  lie  forever  shamed;  a 
squire  of  dames,  a  courtly  coxcomb,  a  fop  of  the 


THE  WAGER  13 

Luxembourg!  Mordemondiou !  I  have  given  a  man  a 
bellyful  of  steel  for  the  half  of  those  titles!" 

I  heeded  him  little,  and  as  little  the  other  noisy 
babblers,  who  now  on  their  feet  —  those  that  could 
stand  —  were  spurring  me  excitedly  to  accept  the 
challenge,  until  from  being  one  of  the  baiters  it  seemed 
that  of  a  sudden  the  tables  were  turned  and  I  was  be- 
come the  baited.  I  sat  in  thought,  revolving  the  busi- 
ness in  my  mind,  and  frankly  liking  it  but  little. 
Doubts  of  the  issue,  were  I  to  undertake  it,  I  had  none. 

My  views  of  the  other  sex  were  neither  more  nor 
less  than  my  words  to  the  Count  had  been  calculated 
to  convey.  It  may  be  —  I  know  now  that  it  was  — 
that  the  women  I  had  known  fitted  Chatellerault's  de- 
scription, and  were  not  over-difficult  to  win.  Hence, 
such  successes  as  I  had  had  with  them  in  such  comedies 
of  love  as  I  had  been  engaged  upon  had  given  me  a 
false  impression.  But  such  at  least  was  not  my 
opinion  that  night.  I  was  satisfied  that  Chatellerault 
talked  wildly,  and  that  no  such  woman  lived  as  he 
depicted.  Cynical  and  soured  you  may  account  me. 
Such  I  know  I  was  accounted  in  Paris;  a  man  satiated 
with  all  that  wealth  and  youth  and  the  King's  favour 
could  give  him;  stripped  of  illusions,  of  faith  and  of 
zest,  the  very  magnificence  —  so  envied  —  of  my 
existence  affording  me  more  disgust  than  satisfaction, 
since  already  I  had  gauged  its  shallows. 

Is  it  strange,  therefore,  that  in  this  challenge  flung 
at  me  with  such  insistence,  a  business  that  at  first  I 
disliked  grew  presently  to  beckon  me  with  its  novelty 
and  its  promise  of  new  sensations? 

"Is  your  spirit  dead.  Monsieur  de  Bardelys?" 
Chatellerault  was  gibing,  when  my  silence  had  en- 


14  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

dured  some  moments.  "  Is  the  cock  that  lately  crowed 
so  lustily  now  dumb  ?  Look  you,  Monsieur  le  Marquis, 
you  are  accounted  here  a  reckless  gamester.  Will  a 
wager  induce  you  to  this  undertaking?" 

I  leapt  to  my  feet  at  that.  His  derision  cut  me  like 
a  whip.  If  what  I  did  was  the  act  of  a  braggart,  yet  it 
almost  seems  I  could  do  no  less  to  bolster  up  my 
former  boasting  —  or  what  into  boasting  they  had 
translated. 

"You'll  lay  a  wager,  will  you,  Chatellerault?"  I 
cried,  giving  him  back  defiance  for  defiance.  A  breath- 
less silence  fell.  "  Then  have  it  so.  Listen,  gentlemen, 
that  you  may  be  witnesses.  I  do  here  pledge  my 
castle  of  Bardelys,  and  my  estates  in  Picardy,  with 
every  stick  and  stone  and  blade  of  grass  that  stands 
upon  them,  that  I  shall  woo  and  win  Roxalanne  de 
Lavedan  to  be  the  Marquise  of  Bardelys.  Does  the 
stake  satisfy  you.  Monsieur  le  Comte?  You  may  set 
all  you  have  against  it,"  I  added  coarsely,  "and  yet,  I 
swear,  the  odds  will  be  heavily  in  your  favour." 

I  remember  it  was  Mironsac  who  first  found  his 
tongue,  and  sought  even  at  that  late  hour  to  set  re- 
straint upon  us  and  to  bring  judgment  to  our  aid. 

"Messieurs,  messieurs!"  he  besought  us.  "In 
Heaven's  name,  bethink  you  what  you  do.  Bardelys, 
your  wager  is  a  madness.  Monsieur  de  Chatellerault, 
you'll  not  accept  it.   You'll  — " 

"Be  silent,"  I  rebuked  him,  with  some  asperity. 
**What  has  Monsieur  de  Chatellerault  to  say?" 

He  was  staring  at  the  tablecloth  and  the  stain  of  the 
wine  that  he  had  spilled  when  first  Mademoiselle  de 
Lavedan's  name  was  mentioned.  His  head  had  been 
bent  so  that  his  long  black  hair  had  tumbled  forward 


THE  WAGER  15 

and  partly  veiled  his  face.  At  my  question  he  suddenly 
looked  up.  The  ghost  of  a  smile  hung  on  his  sensuous 
lips,  for  all  that  excitement  had  paled  his  countenance 
beyond  its  habit. 

"Monsieur  le  Marquis,"  said  he,  rising,  "I  take 
your  wager,  and  I  pledge  my  lands  in  Normandy 
against  yours  of  Bardelys.  Should  you  lose,  they  will 
no  longer  call  3^ou  the  Magnificent;  should  I  lose  —  I 
shall  be  a  beggar.  It  is  a  momentous  wager,  Bardelys, 
and  spells  ruin  for  one  of  us." 

"A  madness!"  groaned  Mironsac. 

"  Mordioux ! "  swore  Cazalet.  Whilst  La  Fosse,  who 
had  been  the  original  cause  of  all  this  trouble,  vented 
his  excitement  in  a  gibber  of  imbecile  laughter. 

"How  long  do  you  give  me,  Chatellerault  ? "  I  asked, 
as  quietly  as  I  might. 

"What  time  shall  you  require?" 

"I  should  prefer  that  you  name  the  limit,"  I 
answered. 

He  pondered  a  moment.  Then  — 

"Will  three  months  suffice  you?"  he  asked. 

"If  it  is  not  done  in  three  months,  I  will  pay," 
said  I. 

And  then  Chatellerault  did  what  after  all  was,  I 
suppose,  the  only  thing  that  a  gentleman  might  do 
under  the  circumstances.  He  rose  to  his  feet,  and, 
bidding  the  company  charge  their  glasses,  he  gave 
them  a  "parting  toast. 

"Messieurs,  drink  with  me  to  Monsieur  le  Marquis 
de  Bardelys's  safe  journey  into  Languedoc,  and  to  the 
Drospering  of  his  undertaking." 

In  answer,  a  great  shout  went  up  from  throats  that 
suspense  had  lately  held  in  leash.   Men  leapt  on  to 


i6  BARDELYS  THfe  MAGNIFICENT 

their  chairs,  and,  holding  their  glasses  on  high,  they 
acclaimed  me  as  thunderously  as  though  I  had  been 
the  hero  of  some  noble  exploit,  instead  of  the  main 
figure  in  a  somewhat  questionable  wager. 

"Bardelys!"  was  the  shout  with  which  the  house 
reechoed.  "Bardelys!  Bardelys  the  Magnificent! 
Vive  Bardelys!" 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  KING'S  WISHES 

IT  was  daybreak  ere  the  last  of  them  had  left  me, 
for  a  dozen  or  so  had  lingered  to  play  lansquenet 
after  the  others  had  departed.  With  those  that  re- 
mained my  wager  had  soon  faded  into  insignificance, 
as  their  minds  became  engrossed  in  the  fluctuations  of 
their  own  fortunes. 

I  did  not  play  myself;  I  was  not  in  the  mood,  and 
for  one  night,  at  least,  of  sufficient  weight  already  I 
thought  the  game  upon  which  I  was  launched. 

I  was  out  on  the  balcony  as  the  first  lines  of  dawn 
were  scoring  the  east,  and  in  a  moody,  thoughtful 
condition  I  had  riveted  my  eyes  upon  the  palace  of 
the  Luxembourg,  which  loomed  a  black  pile  against 
the  lightening  sky,  when  Mironsac  came  out  to  join 
me.  A  gentle,  lovable  lad  was  Mironsac,  not  twenty 
years  of  age,  and  with  the  face  and  manners  of  a 
woman.  That  he  was  attached  to  me  I  knew. 

"Monsieur  le  Marquis,"  said  he  softly, "  I  am  deso- 
lated at  this  wager  into  which  they  have  forced  you." 

"Forced  me?"  I  echoed.  "No,  no;  they  did  not 
force  me.  And  yet,"  I  reflected,  with  a  sigh,  "perhaps 
they  did." 

"I  have  been  thinking,  monsieur,  that  if  the  King 
were  to  hear  of  it  the  evil  might  be  mended." 

"But  the  King  must  not  hear  of  it,  Armand,"  I 
answered  quickly.  "Even  if  he  did,  matters  would  be 
no  better  —  much  worse,  possibly.'* 


i8  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

"But,  monsieur,  this  thing  done  in  the  heat  of 
wine  —  " 

"Is  none  the  less  done,  Armand,"  I  concluded. 
"And  I  for  one  do  not  wish  it  undone." 

"But  have  you  no  thought  for  the  lady?"  he  cried. 

I  laughed  at  him.  "Were  I  still  eighteen,  boy,  the 
thought  might  trouble  me.  Had  I  my  illusions,  I 
might  imagine  that  my  wife  must  be  some  woman  of 
whom  I  should  be  enamoured.  As  it  is,  I  have  grown 
to  the  age  of  twenty-eight  unwed.  Marriage  becomes 
desirable.  I  must  think  of  an  heir  to  all  the  wealth  of 
Bardelys.  And  so  I  go  to  Languedoc.  If  the  lady  be 
but  half  the  saint  that  fool  Chatellerault  has  painted 
her,  so  much  the  better  for  my  children;  if  not,  so 
much  the  worse.  There  is  the  dawn,  Mironsac,  and  it 
is  time  we  were  abed.  Let  us  drive  these  plaguy 
gamesters  home." 

When  the  last  of  them  had  staggered  down  my 
steps,  and  I  had  bidden  a  drowsy  lacquey  extinguish 
the  candles,  I  called  Ganymede  to  light  me  to  bed  and 
aid  me  to  undress.  His  true  name  was  Rodenard;  but 
my  friend  La  Fosse,  of  mythological  fancy,  had  named 
him  Ganymede,  after  the  cup-bearer  of  the  gods,  and 
the  name  had  clung  to  him.  He  was  a  man  of  some 
forty  years  of  age,  born  into  my  father's  service,  and 
since  become  my  intendant,  factotum,  majordomo, 
and  generalissimo  of  my  regiment  of  servants  and  my 
establishments  both  in  Paris  and  at  Bardelys. 

We  had  been  to  the  wars  together  ere  I  had  cut  my 
wisdom  teeth,  and  thus  had  he  come  to  love  me.  There 
was  nothing  this  invaluable  servant  could  not  do.  At 
baiting  or  shoeing  a  horse,  at  healing  a  wound,  at 
roasting  a  capon,  or  at  mending  a  doublet,  he  was  alike 


THE  KING'S  WISHES  19 

a  master,  besides  possessing  a  score  of  other  accom- 
plishments that  do  not  now  occur  to  me,  which  in  his 
campaigning  he  had  acquired.  Of  late  the  easy  life  in 
Paris  had  made  him  incline  to  corpulency,  and  his 
face  was  of  a  pale,  unhealthy  fullness. 

To-night,  as  he  assisted  me  to  undress,  it  wore  an 
expression  of  supreme  woe. 

"  Monseigneur  is  going  into  Languedoc?"  he  in- 
quired sorrowfully.  He  always  called  me  his  "sei- 
gneur," as  did  the  other  of  my  servants  born  at 
Bardelys. 

"Knave,  you  have  been  listening,"  said  I. 

"But,  monseigneur,"  he  explained,  "when  Mon- 
sieur le  Comte  de  Chatellerault  laid  his  wager — " 

"And  have  I  not  told  you,  Ganymede,  that  when 
you  chance  to  be  among  my  friends  you  should  hear 
nothing  but  the  words  addressed  to  you,  see  nothing 
but  the  glasses  that  need  replenishing?  But,  there! 
We  are  going  into  Languedoc.  What  of  it?" 

"They  say  that  war  may  break  out  at  any  mo- 
ment," he  groaned;  "that  Monsieur  le  Due  de  Mont- 
morency is  receiving  reenforcements  from  Spain,  and 
that  he  intends  to  uphold  the  standard  of  Monsieur 
and  the  rights  of  the  province  against  the  encroach- 
ments of  His  Eminence  the  Cardinal." 

"So!  We  are  becoming  politicians,  eh,  Ganymede? 
And  how  shall  all  this  concern  us?  Had  you  listened 
more  attentively,  you  had  learnt  that  we  go  to  Lan- 
guedoc to  seek  a  wife,  and  not  to  concern  ourselves 
with  Cardinals  and  Dukes.  Now  let  me  sleep  ere  the 
sun  rises." 

On  the  morrow  I  attended  the  levee,  and  I  applied  to 
His  Majesty  for  leave  to  absent  myself.    But  upon 


20  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

hearing  that  it  was  into  Languedoc  I  went,  he  frowned 
inquiry.  Trouble  enough  was  his  brother  already 
making  in  that  province.  I  explained  that  I  went  to 
seek  a  wife,  and  deeming  all  subterfuge  dangerous, 
since  it  might  only  serve  to  provoke  him  when  later  he 
came  to  learn  the  lady's  name,  I  told  him  —  withhold- 
ing yet  all  mention  of  the  wager  —  that  I  fostered  the 
hope  of  making  Mademoiselle  de  Lavedan  my  mar- 
quise. 

Deeper  came  the  line  between  his  brows  at  that,  and 
blacker  grew  the  scowl.  He  was  not  wont  to  bestow  on 
me  such  looks  as  I  now  met  in  his  weary  eyes,  for 
Louis  XIII  had  much  affection  for  me. 

"You  know  this  lady?"  he  demanded  sharply. 

**Only  by  name,  Your  Majesty." 

At  that  his  brows  went  up  in  astonishment. 

"Only  by  name?  And  you  would  wed  her?  But, 
Marcel,  my  friend,  you  are  a  rich  man  —  one  of 
the  richest  in  France.  You  cannot  be  a  fortune- 
hunter." 

"Sire,"  I  answered,  "Fame  sings  loudly  the  praises 
of  this  lady,  her  beauty  and  her  virtue  —  praises  that 
lead  me  to  opine  she  would  make  me  an  excellent 
chatelaine.  I  am  come  to  an  age  when  it  is  well  to  wed; 
indeed.  Your  Majesty  has  often  told  me  so.  And  it 
seems  to  me  that  all  France  does  not  hold  a  lady  more 
desirable.  Heaven  send  she  will  agree  to  my  suit!" 

In  that  tired  way  of  his  that  was  so  pathetic:  "Do 
you  love  me  a  little,  Marcel?"  he  asked. 

"  Sire,"  I  exclaimed,  wondering  whither  all  this  was 
leading  us,  "need  I  protest  it?" 

" No,"  he  answered  dryly;  "you  can  prove  it.  Prove 
it  by  abandoning  this  Languedoc  quest.    I   have 


THE  KING'S  WISHES  21 

motives  —  sound  motives,  motives  of  political  im- 
port. I  desire  another  wedding  for  Mademoiselle  de 
Lavedan.  I  wish  it  so,  Bardelys,  and  I  look  to  be 
obeyed." 

For  a  moment  temptation  had  me  by  the  throat. 
Here  was  an  unlooked-for  chance  to  shake  from  me  a 
business  which  reflection  was  already  rendering  odious. 
I  had  but  to  call  together  my  friends  of  yesternight, 
and  with  them  the  Comte  de  Chatellerault,  and  in- 
form them  that  by  the  King  was  I  forbidden  to  go  a- 
wooing  Roxalanne  de  Lavedan.  So  should  my  wager 
be  dissolved.  And  then  in  a  flash  I  saw  how  they 
would  sneer  one  and  all,  and  how  they  would  think 
that  I  had  caught  avidly  at  this  opportunity  of  freeing 
myself  from  an  undertaking  into  which  a  boastful 
mood  had  lured  me.  The  fear  of  that  swept  aside  my 
momentary  hesitation. 

"Sire,"  I  answered,  bending  my  head  contritely, 
"I  am  desolated  that  my  inclinations  should  run 
counter  to  your  wishes,  but  to  your  wonted  kindness 
and  clemency  I  must  look  for  forgiveness  if  these  same 
inclinations  drive  me  so  relentlessly  that  I  may  not 
now  turn  back." 

He  caught  me  viciously  by  the  arm,  and  looked 
sharply  into  my  face. 

"You  defy  me,  Bardelys?"  he  asked,  in  a  voice  of 
anger. 

"God  ^orbid,  Sire!"  I  answered  quickly.  "I  do  but 
pursue  my  destiny." 

He  took  a  turn  in  silence,  like  a  man  who  is  master- 
ing himself  before  he  will  speak..  Many  an  eye,  I 
knew,  was  upon  us,  and  not  a  few  may  have  been 
marvelling  whether  already  Bardelys  were  about  to 


22  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

share  the  fate  that  yesterday  had  overtaken  his  rival 
Chatellerault.   At  last  he  halted  at  my  side  again. 

"Marcel,"  said  he,  but  though  he  used  that  name 
his  voice  was  harsh,  "go  home  and  ponder  what  I  have 
said.  If  you  value  my  favour,  if  you  desire  my  love, 
you  will  abandon  this  journey  and  the  suit  you  con- 
template. If,  on  the  other  hand,  you  persist  in  go- 
ing —  you  need  not  return.  The  Court  of  France  has 
no  room  for  gentlemen  who  are  but  lip-servers,  no 
place  for  courtiers  who  disobey  their  King." 

That  was  his  last  word.  He  waited  for  no  reply,  but 
swung  round  on  his  heel,  and  an  instant  later  I  beheld 
him  deep  in  conversation  with  the  Duke  of  Saint- 
Simon.  Of  such  a  quality  is  the  love  of  princes  —  vain, 
capricious,  and  wilful.  Indulge  it  ever  and  at  any  cost, 
else  you  forfeit  it. 

I  turned  away  with  a  sigh,  for  in  spite  of  all  his 
weaknesses  and  meannesses  I  loved  this  cardinal- 
ridden  king,  and  would  have  died  for  him  had  the  need 
occurred,  as  well  he  knew.  But  in  this  matter  —  well, 
I  accounted  my  honour  involved,  and  there  was  now 
no  turning  back  save  by  the  payment  of  my  wager  and 
the  acknowledgment  of  defeat. 


I 


CHAPTER  III 
ren£  de  lesperon 

THAT  very  day  I  set  out.  For  since  the  King  was 
opposed  to  the  affair,  and  knowing  the  drastic 
measures  by  which  he  was  wont  to  enforce  what  he 
desired,  I  realized  that  did  I  hnger  he  might  find  a 
way  definitely  to  prevent  my  going. 

I  travelled  in  a  coach,  attended  by  two  lacqueys  and 
a  score  of  men-at-arms  in  my  own  livery,  all  com- 
manded by  Ganymede.  My  intendant  himself  came 
in  another  coach  with  my  wardrobe  and  travelling 
necessaries.  We  were  a  fine  and  almost  regal  cortege 
as  we  passed  down  the  rue  de  I'Enfer  and  quitted 
Paris  by  the  Orleans  gate,  taking  the  road  south.  So 
fine  a  cortege,  indeed,  that  it  entered  my  mind  His 
Majesty  would  come  to  hear  of  it,  and,  knowing  my 
destination,  send  after  me  to  bring  me  back.  To  evade 
such  a  possibility,  I  ordered  a  divergence  to  be  made, 
and  we  struck  east  and  into  Touraine.  At  Pont-le- 
Duc,  near  Tours,  I  had  a  cousin  in  the  Vicomte 
d'Amaral,  and  at  his  chateau  I  arrived  on  the  third 
day  after  quitting  Paris. 

Since  that  was  the  last  place  where  they  would  seek 
me,  if  to  seek  me  they  were  inclined,  I  elected  to  re- 
main my  cousin's  guest  for  fifteen  days.  And  whilst  I 
was  there  we  had  news  of  trouble  in  the  South  and  of 
a  rising  in  Languedoc  under  the  Due  de  Montmorency. 
Thus  was  it  that  when  I  came  to  take  my  leave  of 
Amaral,  he,  knowing  that  Languedoc  was  my  destina- 


04  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

tion,  sought  ardently  to  keep  me  with  him  until  we 
should  learn  that  peace  and  order  were  restored  in  the 
province.  But  I  held  the  trouble  lightly,  and  insisted 
upon  going. 

Resolutely,  then,  if  by  slow  stages,  we  pursued  our 
journey,  and  came  at  last  to  Montauban.  There  we 
lay  a  night  at  the  Auberge  de  Navarre,  intending  to 
push  on  to  Lavedan  upon  the  morrow.  My  father  had 
been  on  more  than  friendly  terms  with  the  Vicomte  de 
Lavedan,  and  upon  this  I  built  my  hopes  of  a  cordial 
welcome  and  an  invitation  to  delay  for  a  few  days  the 
journey  to  Toulouse,  upon  which  I  should  represent 
myself  as  bound. 

Thus,  then,  stood  my  plans.  And  they  remained 
unaltered  for  all  that  upon  the  morrow  there  were  wild 
rumours  in  the  air  of  Montauban.  There  were  tellings 
of  a  battle  fought  the  day  before  at  Castelnaudary, 
of  the  defeat  of  Monsieur's  partisans,  of  the  utter 
rout  of  Gonzalo  de  Cordova's  Spanish  tatterde- 
malions, and  of  the  capture  of  Montmorency,  who 
was  sorely  wounded  —  some  said  with  twenty  and 
some  with  thirty  wounds  —  and  little  like  to  live. 
Sorrow  and  discontent  stalked  abroad  in  Languedoc 
that  day,  for  they  believed  that  it  was  against  the  Car- 
dinal, who  sought  to  strip  them  of  so  many  privileges, 
that  Gaston  d'Orleans  had  set  up  his  standard. 

That  those  rumours  of  battle  and  defeat  were  true 
we  had  ample  proof  some  few  hours  later,  when  a 
company  of  dragoons  in  buff  and  steel  rode  into  the 
courtyard  of  the  Auberge  de  Navarre,  headed  by  a 
young  spark  of  an  officer,  who  confirmed  the  rumour 
and  set  the  number  of  Montmorency's  wounds  at 
seventeen.  He  was  lying,  the  officer  told  us,  at  Castel- 


ren£  DE  LESPERON  25 

naudary,  and  his  duchess  was  hastening  to  him  from 
Beziers.  Poor  woman !  She  was  destined  to  nurse  him 
back  to  Hfe  and  vigour  only  that  he  might  take  his 
trial  at  Toulouse  and  pay  with  his  head  the  price  of 
his  rebellion. 

Ganymede  who,  through  the  luxurious  habits  of  his 
more  recent  years  had  —  for  all  his  fine  swagger  — 
developed  a  marked  distaste  for  warfare  and  excite- 
ment, besought  me  to  take  thought  for  my  safety  and 
to  lie  quietly  at  Montauban  until  the  province  should 
be  more  settled. 

"The  place  is  a  hotbed  of  rebellion,"  he  urged.  "If 
these  Chouans  but  learn  that  we  are  from  Paris  and  of 
the  King's  party,  we  shall  have  our  throats  slit,  as  I 
live.  There  is  not  a  peasant  in  all  this  countryside  — 
indeed,  scarce  a  man  of  any  sort  —  but  is  a  red-hot 
Orleanist,  anti-Cardinalist,  and  friend  of  the  Devil. 
Bethink  you,  monseigneur!  to  push  on  at  the  present 
is  to  court  murder." 

"Why,  then,  we  will  court  murder,"  said  I  coldly. 
"Give  the  word  to  saddle." 

I  asked  him  at  the  moment  of  setting  out  did  he 
know  the  road  to  Lavedan,  to  which  the  lying  poltroon 
made  answer  that  he  did.  In  his  youth  he  may  have 
known  it,  and  the  countryside  may  have  undergone 
since  then  such  changes  as  bewildered  him.  Or  it  may 
be  that  fear  dulled  his  wits,  and  lured  him  into  taking 
what  may  have  seemed  the  safer  rather  than  the  like- 
lier road.  But  this  I  know,  that  as  night  was  falling 
my  carriage  halted  with  a  lurch,  and  as  I  put  forth 
my  head  I  was  confronted  by  my  trembling  intendant> 
his  great  fat  face  gleaming  whitely  in  the  gloom  above 
the  lawn  collar  on  his  doublet. 


06  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

"Why  do  we  halt,  Ganymede?"  quoth  I. 

"Monseigneur,"  he  faltered,  his  trembling  increas- 
ing as  he  spoke,  and  his  eyes  meeting  mine  in  a  look  of 
pitiful  contrition,  "I  fear  we  are  lost." 

"Lost?"  I  echoed.  "Of  what  do  you  talk?  Am  I  to 
sleep  in  the  coach?" 

"Alas,  monseigneur,  I  have  done  my  best  — " 

"Why,  then,  God  keep  us  from  your  worst,"  I 
snapped.   "Open  me  this  door." 

I  stepped  down  and  looked  about  me,  and,  by  my 
faith,  a  more  desolate  spot  to  lose  us  in  my  henchman 
could  not  have  contrived  had  he  been  at  pains  to  do 
so.  A  bleak,  barren  landscape  —  such  as  I  could 
hardly  have  credited  was  to  be  found  in  all  that  fair 
province  —  unfolded  itself,  looking  now  more  bleak, 
perhaps,  by  virtue  of  the  dim  evening  mist  that 
hovered  over  it.  Yonder,  to  the  right,  a  dull  russet 
patch  of  sky  marked  the  west,  and  then  in  front  of  us 
I  made  out  the  hazy  outline  of  the  Pyrenees.  At  sight 
of  them,  I  swung  round  and  gripped  my  henchman  by 
the  shoulder. 

"A  fine  trusty  servant  thou!"  I  cried.  "Boaster! 
Had  you  told  us  that  age  and  fat  living  had  so  stunted 
your  wits  as  to  have  extinguished  memory,  I  had 
taken  a  guide  at  Montauban  to  show  us  the  way.  Yet, 
here,  with  the  sun  and  the  Pyrenees  to  guide  you,  even 
had  you  no  other  knowledge,  you  lose  yourself!" 

"Monseigneur,"  he  whimpered,  "I  was  choosing 
my  way  by  the  sun  and  the  mountains,  and  it  was 
thus  that  I  came  to  this  impasse.  For  you  may  see, 
yourself,  that  the  road  ends  here  abruptly." 

"Ganymede,"  said  I  slowly,  "when  we  return  to 
Paris  —  if  you  do  not  die  of  fright  'twixt  this  and  then 


ren£  DE  LESPERON  27 

—  I'll  find  a  place  for  you  in  the  kitchens.  God  send 
you  may  make  a  better  scullion  than  a  follower!" 
Then,  vaulting  over  the  wall,  "Attend  me,  some  half- 
dozen  of  you,"  I  commanded,  and  stepped  out  briskly 
towards  the  barn. 

As  the  weather-beaten  old  door  creaked  upon  its 
rusty  hinges,  we  were  greeted  by  a  groan  from 
within,  and  with  it  the  soft  rustle  of  straw  that  is 
being  moved.  Surprised,  I  halted,  and  waited  whilst 
one  of  my  men  kindled  a  light  in  the  lanthorn  that 
he  carried. 

By  its  rays  we  beheld  a  pitiable  sight  in  a  corner  of 
that  building.  A  man,  quite  young  and  of  a  tall  and 
vigorous  frame,  lay  stretched  upon  the  straw.  He 
was  fully  dressed  even  to  his  great  riding-boots,  and 
from  the  loose  manner  in  which  his  back-and-breast 
hung  now  upon  him,  it  would  seem  as  if  he  had  been 
making  shift  to  divest  himself  of  his  armour,  but  had 
lacked  the  strength  to  complete  the  task.  Beside  him 
lay  a  feathered  headpiece  and  a  sword  attached  to  a 
richly  broidered  baldrick.  All  about  him  the  straw 
was  clotted  with  brown,  viscous  patches  of  blood.  The 
doublet  which  had  been  of  sky-blue  velvet  was  all 
sodden  and  stained,  and  inspection  showed  us  that 
he  had  been  wounded  in  the  right  side,  between  the 
straps  of  his  breastplate. 

As  we  stood  about  him  now,  a  silent,  pitying  group, 
appearing  fantastic,  perhaps,  by  the  dim  light  of  that 
single  lanthorn,  he  attempted  to  raise  his  head,  and 
then  with  a  groan  he  dropped  it  back  upon  the  straw 
that  pillowed  it.  From  out  of  a  face  white,  as  in  death, 
and  drawn  with  haggard  lines  of  pain,  a  pair  of  great 
lustrous  blue  eyes  were  turned  upon  us,  abject  and 


28  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

pitiful  as  the  gaze  of  a  dumb  beast  that  is  stricken 
mortally. 

It  needed  no  acuteness  to  apprehend  that  we  had 
before  us  one  of  yesterday's  defeated  warriors;  one 
who  had  spent  his  last  strength  in  creeping  hither  to 
get  his  dying  done  in  peace.  Lest  our  presence  should 
add  fear  to  the  agony  already  upon  him,  I  knelt  be- 
side him  in  the  blood-smeared  straw,  and,  raising  his 
head,  I  pillowed  it  upon  my  arm. 

"Have  no  fear,"  said  I  reassuringly.  "We  are 
friends.    Do  you  understand?" 

The  faint  smile  that  played  for  a  second  on  his  lips 
and  lighted  his  countenance  would  have  told  me  that 
he  understood,  even  had  I  not  caught  his  words,  faint 
as  a  sigh  — 

"Merci,  monsieur."  He  nestled  his  head  into  the 
crookof  my  arm.  "Water —  for  the  love  of  God !"  he 
gasped,  to  add  in  a  groan,  "  Je  me  meurs,  monsieur." 

Assisted  by  a  couple  of  knaves,  Ganymede  went 
about  attending  to  the  rebel  at  once.  Handling  him 
as  carefully  as  might  be,  to  avoid  giving  him  un- 
necessary pain  they  removed  his  back-and-breast, 
which  was  flung  with  a  clatter  into  one  of  the  corners 
of  the  barn.  Then,  whilst  one  of  them  gently  drew  off 
his  boots,  Rodenard,  with  the  lanthorn  close  beside 
him,  cut  away  the  fellow's  doublet,  and  laid  bare  the 
oozing  sword-wound  that  gaped  in  his  mangled  side. 
He  whispered  an  order  to  Gilles,  who  went  swiftly  off 
to  the  coach  in  quest  of  something  that  he  had  asked 
for;  then  he  sat  on  his  heels  and  waited,  his  hand  upon 
the  man's  pulse,  his  eyes  on  his  face. 

I  stooped  until  my  lips  were  on  a  level  with  my  in- 
tendant's  ear. 


RENE  DE  LESPERON  29 

"How  is  it  with  him?"  I  inquired. 

"  Dying,"  whispered  Rodenard  in  answer.  "He  has 
lost  too  much  blood,  and  he  is  probably  bleeding  in- 
wardly as  well.  There  is  no  hope  of  his  life,  but  he 
may  linger  thus  some  little  while,  sinking  gradually, 
and  we  can  at  least  mitigate  the  suffering  of  his  last 
moments." 

When  presently  the  men  returned  with  the  things 
that  Ganymede  had  asked  for,  he  mixed  some  pungent 
liquid  with  water,  and,  whilst  a  servant  held  the  bowl, 
he  carefully  sponged  the  rebel's  wound.  This  and  a 
cordial  that  he  had  given  him  to  drink  seemed  to  re- 
vive him  and  to  afford  him  ease.  His  breathing  was 
no  longer  marked  by  any  rasping  sound,  and  his  eyes 
seemed  to  burn  more  intelligently. 

"I  am  dying  —  is  it  not  so?"  he  asked,  and  Gany- 
mede bowed  his  head  in  silence.  The  poor  fellow 
sighed.  "  Raise  me,"  he  begged,  and  when  this  service 
had  been  done  him,  his  eyes  wandered  round  until 
they  found  me.  Then  — 

"Monsieur,"  he  said,  "will  you  do  me  a  last  fa- 
vour?" 

"Assuredly,  my  poor  friend,"  I  answered,  going 
down  on  my  knees  beside  him. 

"You  —  you  were  not  for  the  Duke?"  he  inquired, 
eyeing  me  more  keenly. 

"No,  monsieur.  But  do  not  let  that  disturb  you;  I 
have  no  interest  in  this  rising  and  I  have  taken  no  side. 
I  am  from  Paris,  on  a  journey  of —  of  pleasure.  My 
name  is  Bardelys  —  Marcel  de  Bardelys." 

"Bardelys  the  Magnificent?"  he  questioned,  and  I 
could  not  repress  a  smile. 

"I  am  that  overrated  man." 


3©  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

"But  then  you  are  for  the  King!"  And  a  note  of 
disappointment  crept  into  his  voice.  Before  I  could 
make  him  any  answer,  he  had  resumed.  "No  matter. 
Marcel  de  Bardelys  is  a  gentleman,  and  party  signifies 
little  when  a  man  is  dying.  I  am  Rene  de  Lesperon,  of 
Lesperon  in  Gascony,"  he  pursued.  "Will  you  send 
word  to  my  sister —  afterwards?" 

I  bowed  my  head  without  speaking. 

"She  is  the  only  relative  I  have,  monsieur.  But" 
—  and  his  tone  grew  wistful  —  "  there  is  one  other  to 
whom  I  would  have  you  bear  a  message."  He  raised 
his  hand  by  a  painful  effort  to  the  level  of  his  breast. 
Strength  failed  him,  and  he  sank  back.  "I  cannot, 
monsieur,"  he  said  in  a  tone  of  pathetic  apology, 
"See;  there  is  a  chain  about  my  neck  with  a  locket. 
Take  it  from  me.  Take  it  now,  monsieur.  There  are 
some  papers  also,  monsieur.  Take  all.  I  want  to  see 
them  safely  in  your  keeping." 

I  did  his  bidding,  and  from  the  breast  of  his  doublet 
I  drew  some  loose  letters  and  a  locket  which  held  the 
miniature  of  a  woman's  face. 

"I  want  you  to  deliver  all  to  her,  monsieur." 

"It  shall  be  done,"  I  answered,  deeply  moved. 

"Hold  it  —  hold  it  up,"  he  begged,  his  voice  weak- 
ening.  "Let  me  behold  the  face." 

Long  his  eyes  rested  on  the  likeness  I  held  before 
him.  At  last,  as  one  in  a  dream  — 

"Well-beloved,"  he  sighed.  "Bien  aim6e!"  And 
down  his  grey,  haggard  cheeks  the  tears  came  slowly. 
"Forgive  this  weakness,  monsieur,"  he  whispered 
brokenly.  "We  were  to  have  been  wed  in  a  month 
had  I  lived."  He  ended  with  a  sob,  and  when  next  he 
spoke  it  was  more  labouredly,  as  though  that  sob  had 


ren£  DE  LESPERON  31 

robbed  him  of  the  half  of  what  vitality  remained. 
"Tell  her,  monsieur,  that  my  —  dying  thoughts  — 
were  of  her.   Tell  —  tell  her  —  I  — " 

"Her  name?"  I  cried,  fearing  he  would  sink  before 
I  learned  it.   "Tell  me  her  name." 

He  looked  at  me  with  eyes  that  were  growing  glassy 
and  vacant.  Then  he  seemed  to  brace  himself  and  to 
rally  for  a  second. 

"  Her  name  ? "  he  mused,  in  a  far-off  manner.  "  She 
is  —  Ma-de-moiselle  de  —  " 

His  head  rolled  on  the  suddenly  relaxed  neck.  He 
collapsed  into  Rodenard's  arms, 

"Is  he  dead?"  I  asked. 

Rodenard  nodded  in  silence. 


CHAPTER  IV 
A  MAID  IN  THE  MOONLIGHT 

I  DO  not  know  whether  it  was  the  influence  of  that 
thing  lying  in  a  corner  of  the  barn  under  the  cloak 
that  Rodenard  had  flung  over  it,  or  whether  other 
influences  of  destiny  were  at  work  to  impel  me  to  rise 
at  the  end  of  a  half-hour  and  announce  my  determina- 
tion to  set  out  on  horseback  and  find  myself  quarters 
more  congenial. 

"To-morrow,"  I  instructed  Ganymede,  as  I  stood 
ready  to  mount,  "you  will  retrace  your  steps  with  the 
others,  and,  finding  the  road  to  Lavedan,  you  will 
follow  me  to  the  chateau." 

"But  you  cannot  hope  to  reach  it  to-night,  mon- 
seigneur,  through  a  country  that  is  unknown  to  you," 
he  protested. 

"I  do  not  hope  to  reach  it  to-night.  I  will  ride 
south  until  I  come  upon  some  hamlet  that  will  afford 
me  shelter  and,  in  the  morning,  direction." 

I  left  him  with  that,  and  set  out  at  a  brisk  trot. 
Night  had  now  fallen,  but  the  sky  was  clear,  and  a 
crescent  moon  came  opportunely  if  feebly  to  dispel 
the  gloom. 

I  quitted  the  field,  and  went  back  until  I  gained  a 
crossroad,  where,  turning  to  the  right,  I  set  my  face  to 
the  Pyrenees,  and  rode  briskly  amain.  That  I  had 
chosen  wisely  was  proved  when  some  twenty  minutes 
later  I  clattered  into  the  hamlet  of  Mirepoix,  and 
drew  up  before  an  inn  flaunting  the  sign  of  a  peacock 


A  MAID  IN  THE  MOONLIGHT 


33 


—  as  if  in  irony  of  its  humbleness,  for  it  was  no  better 
than  a  wayside  tavern.  Neither  stable-boy  nor  ostler 
was  there,  and  the  unclean,  overgrown  urchin  to 
whom  I  entrusted  my  horse  could  not  say  whether, 
indeed,  Pere  Abdon,  the  landlord,  would  be  able  to 
find  me  a  room  to  sleep  in.  I  thirsted,  however;  and 
so  I  determined  to  alight,  if  it  were  only  to  drink  a  can 
of  wine  and  obtain  information  of  my  whereabouts. 

As  I  was  entering  the  hostelry  there  was  a  clatter  of 
hoofs  in  the  street,  and  four  dragoons  headed  by  a 
sergeant  rode  up  and  halted  at  the  door  of  the  Paon. 
They  seemed  to  have  ridden  hard  and  some  distance, 
for  their  horses  were  jaded  almost  to  the  last  point  of 
endurance. 

Within,  I  called  the  host,  and  having  obtained  a 
flagon  of  the  best  vintage  —  Heaven  fortify  those 
that  must  be  content  with  his  worst !  —  I  passed  on  to 
make  inquiries  touching  my  whereabouts  and  the  way 
to  Lavedan.  This  I  learnt  was  but  some  three  or  four 
miles  distant.  About  the  other  table  —  there  were  but 
two  within  the  room  —  stood  the  dragoons  in  a 
whispered  consultation,  of  which  it  had  been  well  had 
I  taken  heed,  for  it  concerned  me  more  closely  than  I 
could  have  dreamt. 

"He  answers  the  description,"  said  the  sergeant, 
and  though  I  heard  the  words  I  took  no  thought  that 
it  was  of  me  they  spoke. 

"Pardieu,"  swore  one  of  his  companions,  "I'll 
wager  it  is  our  man." 

And  then,  just  as  I  was  noticing  that  Master  Abdon, 
who  had  also  overheard  the  conversation,  was  eyeing 
me  curiously,  the  sergeant  stepped  up  to  me,  and  — 

"What  is  your  name,  monsieur?"  quoth  h& 


34  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

I  vouchsafed  him  a  stare  of  surprise  before  asking 
in  my  turn  — 

"How  may  that  concern  you?" 

"  Your  pardon,  my  master,  but  we  are  on  the  King's 
business." 

I  remembered  then  that  he  had  said  I  answered 
some  description.  With  that  it  flashed  through  my 
mind  that  they  had  been  sent  after  me  by  His  Majesty 
to  enforce  my  obedience  to  his  wishes  and  to  hinder 
me  from  reaching  Lavedan.  At  once  came  the  domi- 
nant desire  to  conceal  my  identity  that  I  might  go  un- 
hindered. The  first  name  that  occurred  to  me  was 
that  of  the  poor  wretch  I  had  left  in  the  bam  half  an 
hour  ago,  and  so  — 

"I  am,"  said  I,  "Monsieur  de  Lesperon,  at  your 
service." 

Too  late  I  saw  the  mistake  that  I  had  made.  I  own 
it  was  a  blunder  that  no  man  of  ordinary  intelligence 
should  have  permitted  himself  to  have  committed. 
Remembering  the  unrest  of  the  province,  I  should 
rather  have  concluded  that  their  business  was  more 
like  to  be  in  that  connection. 

"He  is  bold,  at  least,"  cried  one  of  the  troopers, 
with  a  burst  of  laughter.  Then  came  the  sergeant's 
voice,  cold  and  formal  — 

"In  the  King's  name.  Monsieur  de  Lesperon,  I 
arrest  you." 

He  had  whipped  out  his  sword,  and  the  point  was 
within  an  inch  of  my  breast.  But  his  arm,  I  observed, 
was  stretched  to  its  fullest  extent,  which  forbade  his 
making  a  sudden  thrust.  To  hamper  him  in  the  lunge 
there  was  the  table  between  us. 

So,  my  mind  working  quickly  in  this  desperate 


A  MAID  IN  THE  MOONLIGHT  35 

situation,  and  realizing  how  dire  and  urgent  the  need 
to  attempt  an  escape,  I  leapt  suddenly  back  to  find 
myself  in  the  arms  of  his  followers.  But  in  moving  I 
had  caught  up  by  one  of  its  legs  the  stool  on  which  I 
had  been  sitting.  As  I  raised  it,  I  eluded  the  pinioning 
grip  of  the  troopers.  I  twisted  in  their  grasp,  and 
brought  the  stool  down  upon  the  head  of  one  of  them 
with  a  force  that  drove  him  to  his  knees.  Up  went 
that  three-legged  stool  again,  to  descend  like  a  thunder- 
bolt upon  the  head  of  another.  That  freed  me.  The 
sergeant  was  coming  up  behind,  but  another  flourish 
of  my  improvised  battle-axe  sent  the  two  remaining 
soldiers  apart  to  look  to  their  swords.  Ere  they  could 
draw,  I  had  darted  like  a  hare  between  them  and 
out  into  the  street.  The  sergeant,  cursing  them  with 
horrid  volubility,  followed  closely  upon  my  heels. 

Leaping  as  far  into  the  roadway  as  I  could,  I  turned 
to  meet  the  fellow's  onslaught.  Using  the  stool  as  a 
buckler,  I  caught  his  thrust  upon  it.  So  violently  was 
it  delivered  that  the  point  buried  itself  in  the  wood 
and  the  blade  snapped,  leaving  him  a  hilt  and  a  stump 
of  steel.  I  wasted  no  time  in  thought.  Charging  him 
wildly,  I  knocked  him  over  just  as  the  two  unhurt 
dragoons  came  stumbling  out  of  the  tavern. 

I  gained  my  horse,  and  vaulted  into  the  saddle. 
Tearing  the  reins  from  the  urchin  that  held  them,  and 
driving  my  spurs  into  the  beast's  flanks,  I  went  career- 
ing down  the  street  at  a  gallop,  gripping  tightly  with 
my  knees,  whilst  the  stirrups,  which  I  had  had  no  time 
to  step  into,  flew  wildly  about  my  legs. 

A  pistol  cracked  behind  me;  then  another,  and  a 
sharp,  stinging  pdn  in  the  shoulder  warned  me  that  I 
was  hit.   But  I  took  no  heed  of  it  then.  The  wound 


36  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

could  not  be  serious,  else  I  had  already  been  out  of  the 
saddle,  and  it  would  be  time  enough  to  look  to  it 
when  I  had  outdistanced  my  pursuers.  I  say  my 
pursuers,  for  already  there  were  hoofbeats  behind  me, 
and  I  knew  that  those  gentlemen  had  taken  to  their 
horses.  But,  as  you  may  recall,  I  had  on  their  arrival 
noted  the  jaded  condition  of  their  cattle,  whilst  I  be- 
strode a  horse  that  was  comparatively  fresh,  so  that 
pursuit  had  but  small  terrors  for  me.  Nevertheless, 
they  held  out  longer,  and  gave  me  more  to  do  than  I 
had  imagined  would  be  the  case.  For  nigh  upon  a 
half-hour  I  rode,  before  I  could  be  said  to  have  got 
clear  of  them,  and  then  for  aught  I  knew  they  were 
still  following,  resolved  to  hound  me  down  by  the  aid 
of  such  information  as  they  might  cull  upon  their  way. 

I  was  come  by  then  to  the  Garonne.  I  drew  rein  be- 
side the  swiftly  flowing  stream,  winding  itself  like  a 
flood  of  glittering  silver  between  the  black  shadows  of 
its  banks.  A  little  while  I  sat  there  listening,  and 
surveying  the  stately,  turreted  chateau  that  loomed, 
a  grey,  noble  pile,  beyond  the  water.  I  speculated 
what  demesne  this  might  be,  and  I  realized  that  it  was 
probably  Lavedan. 

I  pondered  what  I  had  best  do,  and  in  the  end  I 
took  the  resolve  to  swim  the  river  and  knock  at  the 
gates.  If  it  were  indeed  Lavedan,  I  had  but  to  an- 
nounce myself,  and  to  one  of  my  name  surely  its 
hospitalities  would  be  spread.  If  it  were  some  other 
household,  even  then  the  name  of  Marcel  de  Bardelys 
should  suffice  to  ensure  me  a  welcome. 

By  spurring  and  coaxing,  I  lured  my  steed  into  the 
river.  There  is  a  proverb  having  it  that  though  you 
may  lead  a  horse  to  the  water  you  cannot  make  him 


A  MAID  IN  THE  MOONLIGHT  37 

drink.  It  would  have  now  applied  to  my  case,  for  al- 
though I  had  brought  mine  to  the  water  I  could  not 
make  him  swim;  or,  at  least,  I  could  not  make  him 
breast  the  rush  of  the  stream.  Vainly  did  I  urge  him 
and  try  to  hold  him;  he  plunged  frantically,  snorted, 
coughed,  and  struggled  gamely,  but  the  current  was 
bearing  us  swiftly  away,  and  his  efforts  brought  us  no 
nearer  to  the  opposite  shore.  At  last  I  slipped  from 
his  back,  and  set  myself  to  swim  beside  him,  leading 
him  by  the  bridle.  But  even  thus  he  proved  unequal 
to  the  task  of  resisting  the  current,  so  that  in  the  end  I 
let  him  go,  and  swam  ashore  alone,  hoping  that  he 
would  land  farther  down,  and  that  I  might  then  re- 
capture him.  When,  however,  I  had  reached  the 
opposite  bank,  and  stood  under  the  shadow  of  the 
chateau,  I  discovered  that  the  cowardly  beast  had 
turned  back,  and,  having  scrambled  out,  was  now 
trotting  away  along  the  path  by  which  wc  had  come. 
Having  no  mind  to  go  after  him,  I  resigned  myself  to 
the  loss,  and  turned  my  attention  to  the  mansion  now 
before  me. 

Some  two  hundred  yards  from  the  river  it  raised  its 
great  square  bulk  against  the  background  of  black, 
star-flecked  sky.  From  the  fagade  before  me  down  to 
the  spot  where  I  stood  by  the  water,  came  a  flight 
of  half  a  dozen  terraces,  each  balustraded  in  white 
marble,  ending  in  square,  flat-topped  pillars  of  Floren- 
tine design.  What  moon  there  was  revealed  the  quaint 
architecture  of  that  stately  edifice  and  glittered  upon 
the  mullioned  windows.  But  within  nothing  stirred; 
no  yellow  glimmer  came  to  clash  with  the  white  purity 
of  the  moonlight;  no  sound  of  man  or  beast  broke  the 
stillness  of  the  night,  for  all  that  the  hour  was  early. 


38  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

The  air  of  the  place  was  as  that  of  some  gigantic 
sepulchre.  A  little  daunted  by  this  all-enveloping 
stillness,  I  skirted  the  terraces  and  approached  the 
house  on  the  eastern  side.  Here  I  found  an  old-world 
drawbridge  —  now  naturally  in  disuse  —  spanning  a 
ditch  fed  from  the  main  river  for  the  erstwhile  pur- 
poses of  a  moat.  I  crossed  the  bridge,  and  entered  an 
imposing  courtyard.  Within  this  quadrangle  the  same 
silence  dwelt,  and  there  was  the  same  obscurity  in  the 
windows  that  overlooked  it.  I  paused,  at  a  loss  how  to 
proceed,  and  I  leaned  against  a  buttress  of  the  port- 
cullis, what  time  I  considered. 

I  was  weak  from  fasting,  worn  with  hard  riding,  and 
faint  from  the  wound  in  my  shoulder,  which  had  been 
the  cause  at  least  of  my  losing  some  blood.  In  addition 
to  all  this,  I  was  shivering  with  the  cold  of  my  wet 
garments,  and  generally  I  must  have  looked  as  little 
like  that  Bardelys  they  called  the  Magnificent  as  you 
might  well  conceive.  How,  then,  if  I  were  to  knock, 
should  I  prevail  in  persuading  these  people  —  who- 
ever they  might  be  —  of  my  identity?  Infinitely 
more  had  I  the  air  of  some  fugitive  rebel,  and  it  was 
more  than  probable  that  I  should  be  kept  in  durance 
to  be  handed  over  to  my  friends  the  dragoons,  if  later 
they  came  to  ride  that  way.  I  was  separated  from 
those  who  knew  me,  and  as  things  now  stood  —  un- 
less this  were,  indeed,  Lavedan  —  it  might  be  days 
before  they  found  me  again. 

I  was  beginning  to  deplore  my  folly  at  having  cut 
myself  adrift  from  my  followers  in  the  first  place,  and 
having  embroiled  myself  with  the  soldiers  in  the 
second;  I  was  beginning  to  contemplate  the  wisdom  of 
seeking  some  outhouse  of  this  mansion  wherein  to  lie 


A  MAID  IN  THE  MOONLIGHT  39 

until  morning,  when  of  a  sudden  a  broad  shaft  of  light, 
coming  from  one  of  the  windows  on  the  first  floor,  fell 
athwart  the  courtyard.  Instinctively  I  crouched  back 
into  the  shadow  of  my  friendly  buttress,  and  looked 
up. 

That  sudden  shaft  of  light  resulted  from  the  with- 
drawal of  the  curtains  that  masked  a  window.  At  this 
window,  which  opened  outward  on  to  a  balcony,  I 
now  beheld  —  and  to  me  it  was  as  the  vision  of 
Beatrice  may  have  been  to  Dante  —  the  white  figure 
of  a  woman.  The  moonlight  bathed  her,  as  in  her 
white  robe  she  leaned  upon  the  parapet  gazing  up- 
ward into  the  empyrean.  A  sweet,  delicate  face  I  saw, 
not  endowed,  perhaps,  with  that  exquisite  balance 
and  proportion  of  feature  wherein  they  tell  us  beauty 
lies,  but  blessed  with  a  wondrously  dainty  beauty  all 
its  own;  a  beauty,  perhaps,  as  much  of  expression  as 
of  form;  for  in  that  gentle  countenance  was  mirrored 
every  tender  grace  of  girlhood,  all  that  is  fresh  and 
pure  and  virginal. 

I  held  my  breath,  I  think,  as  I  stood  in  ravished 
contemplation  of  that  white  vision.  If  this  were 
Lavedan,  and  that  the  cold  Roxalanne  who  had  sent 
my  bold  Chatellerault  back  to  Paris  empty-handed 
then  were  my  task  a  very  welcome  one. 

How  little  it  had  weighed  with  me  that  I  was  come 
to  Languedoc  to  woo  a  woman  bearing  the  name  of 
Roxalanne  de  Lavedan,  I  have  already  shown.  But 
here  in  this  same  Languedoc  I  beheld  to-night  a 
woman  whom  it  seemed  I  might  have  loved,  for  not 
in  ten  years  —  not,  indeed,  in  all  my  life  —  had  any 
face  so  wrought  upon  me  and  called  to  my  nature 
with  so  strong  a  voice. 


40  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

I  gazed  at  that  child,  and  I  thought  of  the  women 
that  I  had  known  —  the  bold,  bedizened  beauties  of  a 
Court  said  to  be  the  first  in  Europe.  And  then  it  came 
to  me  that  this  was  no  demoiselle  of  Lavedan,  no 
demoiselle  at  all  in  fact,  for  the  noblesse  of  France 
owned  no  such  faces.  Candour  and  purity  were  not  to 
be  looked  for  in  the  high-bred  countenances  of  our 
great  families;  they  were  sometimes  found  in  the  faces 
of  the  children  of  their  retainers.  Yes;  I  had  it  now. 
This  child  was  the  daughter  of  some  custodian  of  the 
demesne  before  me. 

Suddenly,  as  she  stood  there  in  the  moonlight,  a 
song,  sung  at  half-voice,  floated  down  on  the  calm  air. 
It  was  a  ditty  of  old  Provence,  a  melody  I  knew  and 
loved,  and  if  aught  had  been  wanting  to  heighten  the 
enchantment  that  already  ravished  me,  that  soft 
melodious  voice  had  done  it.  Singing  still,  she  turned 
and  reentered  the  room,  leaving  wide  the  windows,  so 
that  faintly,  as  from  a  distance,  her  voice  still  reached 
me  after  she  was  gone  from  sight. 

It  was  in  that  hour  that  it  came  to  me  to  cast  my- 
self upon  this  fair  creature's  mercy.  Surely  one  so 
sweet  and  saintly  to  behold  would  take  compassion  on 
an  unfortunate!  Haply  my  wound  and  all  the  rest 
that  I  had  that  night  endured  made  me  dull-witted 
and  warped  my  reason. 

With  what  strength  I  still  possessed  I  went  to  work 
to  scale  her  balcony.  The  task  was  easy  even  for  one 
in  my  spent  condition.  The  wall  was  thick  with  ivy, 
and,  moreover,  a  window  beneath  afforded  some 
support,  for  by  standing  on  the  heavy  coping  I  could 
with  my  fingers  touch  the  sill  of  the  balcony  above. 
Thus  I  hoisted  myself,  and  presently  I  threw  an  arm 


A  MAID  IN  THE  MOONLIGHT  41 

over  the  parapet.  Already  I  was  astride  of  that  same 
parapet  before  she  became  aware  of  my  presence. 

Tlie  song  died  suddenly  on  her  lips,  and  her  eyes, 
blue  as  forget-me-nots,  were  wide  now  with  the  fear 
that  the  sight  of  me  occasioned.  Another  second  and 
there  had  been  an  outcry  that  would  have  brought  the 
house  about  our  ears,  when,  stepping  to  the  threshold 
of  the  room  — 

"Mademoiselle,"  I  entreated,  "for  the  love  of  God, 
be  silent!  I  mean  you  no  harm.  I  am  a  fugitive.  I 
am  pursued." 

This  was  no  considered  speech.  There  had  been  no 
preparing  of  words;  I  had  uttered  them  mechanically 
almost  —  perhaps  by  inspiration,  for  they  were  surely 
the  best  calculated  to  enlist  this  lady's  sympathy. 
And  so  far  as  went  the  words  themselves,  they  were 
rigorously  true. 

With  eyes  wide  open  still,  she  confronted  me,  and  I 
now  observed  that  she  was  not  so  tall  as  from  below  I 
had  imagined.  She  was,  in  fact,  of  a  short  stature 
rather,  but  of  proportions  so  exquisite  that  she  con- 
veyed an  impression  of  some  height.  In  her  hand  she 
held  a  taper  by  whose  light  she  had  been  surveying 
herself  in  her  mirror  at  the  moment  of  my  advent. 
Her  unbound  hair  of  brown  fell  like  a  mantle  about 
her  shoulders,  and  this  fact  it  was  drew  me  to  notice 
that  she  was  in  her  night-rail,  and  that  this  room  to 
which  I  had  penetrated  was  her  chamber. 

"Who  are  you?"  she  asked  breathlessly,  as  though 
in  such  a  pass  my  identity  were  a  thing  that  signified. 

I  had  almost  answered  her,  as  I  had  answered  the 
troopers  at  Mirepoix,  that  I  was  Lesperon.  Then,  be- 
thinking me  that  there  was  no  need  for  such  equivo- 


4a  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

cation  here,  I  was  on  the  point  of  giving  her  my  name. 
But  noting  my  hesitation,  and  misconstruing  it,  she 
forestalled  me. 

"I  understand,  monsieur,"  said  she  more  com- 
posedly. "And  you  need  have  no  fear.  You  are  among 
friends." 

Her  eyes  had  travelled  over  my  sodden  clothes,  the 
haggard  pallor  of  my  face,  and  the  blood  that  stained 
my  doublet  from  the  shoulder  downward.  From  all 
this  she  had  drawn  her  conclusions  that  I  was  a  hunted 
rebel.  She  drew  me  into  the  room,  and,  closing  the 
window,  she  dragged  the  heavy  curtain  across  it, 
thereby  giving  me  a  proof  of  confidence  that  smote 
me  hard  —  impostor  that  I  was. 

"I  crave  your  pardon,  mademoiselle,  for  having 
startled  you  by  the  rude  manner  of  my  coming,"  said 
I,  and  never  in  my  life  had  I  felt  less  at  ease  than  then. 
"But  I  was  exhausted  and  desperate.  I  am  wounded, 
I  have  ridden  hard,  and  I  swam  the  river." 

The  latter  piece  of  information  was  vastly  un- 
necessary, seeing  that  the  water  from  my  clothes  was 
forming  a  pool  about  my  feet.  "  I  saw  you  from  below, 
mademoiselle,  and  surely,  I  thought,  so  sweet  a  lady 
would  have  pity  on  an  unfortunate."  She  observed 
that  my  eyes  were  upon  her,  and  in  an  act  of  instinc- 
tive maidenliness  she  bore  her  hand  to  her  throat  to 
draw  the  draperies  together  and  screen  the  beauties  of 
her  neck  from  my  unwarranted  glance,  as  though  her 
daily  gown  did  not  reveal  as  much  and  more  of  them. 

That  act,  however,  served  to  arouse  me  to  a.sense 
of  my  position.  What  did  I  there?  It  was  a  profanity 
—  a  defiling,  I  swore;  from  which  you'll  see  that 
Bardelys  was  grown  of  a  sudden  very  nice. 


A  MAID  IN  THE  MOONLIGHT  43 

"Monsieur,"  she  was  saying,  "you  are  exhausted." 

"But  that  I  rode  hard,"  I  laughed,  "it  is  likely 
they  had  taken  me  to  Toulouse,  where  I  might  have 
lost  my  head  before  my  friends  could  have  found  and 
claimed  me.  I  hope  you'll  see  it  is  too  comely  a  head 
to  be  so  lightly  parted  with." 

"For  that,"  said  she,  half  seriously,  half  whimsi- 
cally, "the  ugliest  head  would  be  too  comely." 

I  laughed  softly,  amusedly;  then  of  a  sudden,  with- 
out warning,  a  faintness  took  me,  and  I  was  forced  to 
brace  myself  against  the  wall,  breathing  heavily  the 
while.   At  that  she  gave  a  little  cry  of  alarm. 

"Monsieur,  I  beseech  you  to  be  seated.  I  will 
summon  my  father,  and  we  will  find  a  bed  for  you. 
You  must  not  retain  those  clothes." 

"Angel  of  goodness!"  I  muttered  gratefully,  and 
being  still  half  dazed,  I  brought  some  of  my  Court 
tricks  into  that  chamber  by  taking  her  hand  and 
carrying  it  towards  my  lips.  But  ere  I  had  imprinted 
the  intended  kiss  upon  her  fingers  —  and  by  some 
miracle  they  were  not  withdrawn  —  my  eyes  en- 
countered hers  again.  I  paused  as  one  may  pause  who 
contemplates  a  sacrilege.  For  a  moment  she  held  my 
glance  with  hers;  then  I  fell  abashed,  and  released  her 
hand. 

The  innocence  peeping  out  of  that  child's  eyes  it 
was  that  had  in  that  moment  daunted  me,  and  made 
me  tremble  to  think  of  being  found  there,  and  of  the 
vile  thing  it  would  be  to  have  her  name  coupled  with 
mine.  That  thought  lent  me  strength.  I  cast  my 
weariness  from  me  as  though  it  were  a  garment,  and, 
straightening  myself,  I  stepped  of  a  sudden  to  the 
window.  Without  a  word,  I  made  shift  to  draw  back 


44  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

the  curtain,  when  her  hand,  falling  on  my  sodden 
sleeve,  arrested  me. 

"What  will  you  do,  monsieur?"  she  cried  in  alarm. 
"You  may  be  seen." 

My  mind  was  now  possessed  by  the  thing  I  should 
have  thought  of  before  I  climbed  to  her  balcony,  and 
my  one  resolve  was  to  get  me  thence  as  quickly  as 
might  be. 

"  I  had  not  the  right  to  enter  here,"  I  muttered.  "  I 
—  "I  stopped  short;  to  explain  would  only  be  to  sully, 
and  so,  "Good-night!  Adieu!"  I  ended  brusquely. 

"But,  monsieur  —  "  she  began. 

"Let  me  go,"  I  commanded  almost  roughly,  as  I 
shook  my  arm  free  of  her  grasp. 

"Bethink  you  that  you  are  exhausted.  If  you  go 
forth  now,  monsieur,  you  will  assuredly  be  taken.  You 
must  not  go." 

I  laughed  softly,  and  with  some  bitterness,  too,  for  I 
was  angry  with  myself. 

"Hush,  child,"  I  said.  "Better  so,  if  it  is  to  be." 

And  with  that  I  drew  aside  the  curtains  and  pushed 
the  leaves  of  the  window  apart.  She  remained  stand- 
ing in  the  room,  watching  me,  her  face  pale,  and  her 
eyes  pained  and  puzzled. 

One  last  glance  I  gave  her  as  I  bestrode  the  rail  of 
her  balcony.  Then  I  lowered  myself  as  I  had  ascended. 
I  was  hanging  by  my  hands,  seeking  with  my  foot  for 
the  coping  of  the  window  beneath  me,  when,  suddenly, 
there  came  a  buzzing  in  my  ears.  I  had  a  fleeting 
vision  of  a  white  figure  leaning  on  the  balcony  above 
me;  then  a  veil  seemed  drawn  over  my  eyes;  there 
came  a  sense  of  falling;  a  rush  as  of  a  tempestuous 
wind;  then  —  nothing. 


CR^PTER  V 
THE  VICOMTE  DE  LAV^DAN 

WHEN  next  I  awakened,  it  was  to  find  myself 
abed  in  an  elegant  apartment,  spacious  and 
sunlit,  that  was  utterly  strange  to  me.  For  some 
seconds  I  was  content  to  lie  and  take  no  count  of  my 
whereabouts.  My  eyes  travelled  idly  over  the  hand- 
some furnishings  of  that  choicely  appointed  chamber, 
and  rested  at  last  upon  the  lean,  crooked  figure  of  a 
man  whose  back  was  towards  me  and  who  was  busy 
with  some  phials  at  a  table  not  far  distant.  Then  re- 
flection awakened  also  in  me,  and  I  set  my  wits  to 
work  to  grapple  with  my  surroundings.  I  looked 
through  the  open  window,  but  from  my  position  on 
the  bed  no  more  was  visible  than  the  blue  sky  and  a 
faint  haze  of  distant  hills. 

I  taxed  my  memory,  and  the  events  of  yesternight 
recurred  to  me.  I  remembered  the  girl,  the  balcony, 
and  my  flight  ending  in  my  giddiness  and  my  fall.  Had 
they  brought  me  into  that  same  chateau,  or  —  Or 
what  ?  No  other  possibility  came  to  suggest  itself,  and, 
seeing  scant  need  to  tax  my  brains  with  speculation, 
since  there  was  one  there  of  whom  I  might  ask  the 
question  — 

"Hola,  my  master!"  I  called  to  him,  and  as  I  did  so 
I  essayed  to  move.  The  act  wrung  a  sharp  cry  of 
pain  from  me.  My  left  shoulder  was  numb  and  sore, 
but  in  my  right  foot  that  sudden  movement  had 
aroused  a  sharper  pang. 


46  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

At  my  cry  that  little  wizened  old  man  swung 
suddenly  round.  He  had  the  face  of  a  bird  of  prey, 
yellow  as  a  louis  d'or,  with  a  great  hooked  nose,  and  a 
pair  of  beady  black  eyes  that  observed  me  solemnly. 
The  mouth  alone  was  the  redeeming  feature  in  a 
countenance  that  had  otherwise  been  evil;  it  was 
instinct  with  good-humour.  But  I  had  small  leisure  to 
observe  him  then,  for  simultaneously  with  his  turning 
there  had  been  another  movement  at  my  bedside 
which  drew  my  eyes  elsewhere.  A  gentleman,  richly 
dressed,  and  of  an  imposing  height,  approached  me. 

"You  are  awake,  monsieur?"  he  said  in  a  half 
interrogative  tone. 

"  Will  you  do  me  the  favour  to  tell  me  where  I  am, 
monsieur?"  quoth  I. 

"You  do  not  know?  You  are  at  Lavedan.  I  am  the 
Vicomte  de  Lavedan  —  at  your  service." 

Although  it  was  no  more  than  I  might  have  ex- 

ricted,  yet  a  dull  wonder  filled  me,  to  which  presently 
gave  expression  by  asking  stupidly  — 
"At  Lavedan?  But  how  came  I  hither?" 
"  How  you  came  is  more  than  I  can  tell,"  he  laughed. 
"But  I'll  swear  the  King's  dragoons  were  not  far  be- 
hind you.  We  found  you  in  the  courtyard  last  nighty 
in  a  swoon  of  exhaustion,  wounded  in  the  shoulder, 
and  with  a  sprained  foot.  It  was  my  daughter  who 
gave  the  alarm  and  called  us  to  your  assistance.  You 
were  lying  under  her  window."  Then,  seeing  the 
growing  wonder  in  my  eyes,  and  misconstruing  it  into 
alarm:  "Nay,  have  no  fear,  monsieur,"  he  cried.  "You 
were  very  well  advised  in  coming  to  us.  You  have 
fallen  among  friends.  We  are  Orleanists  too,  at 
Lavedan,  for  all  that  I  was  not  in  the  fight  at  Castel- 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  LAVEDAN  47 

naudary.  That  was  no  fault  of  mine.  His  Grace's 
messenger  reached  me  over-late,  and  for  all  that  I  set 
out  with  a  company  of  my  men,  I  put  back  when  I  had 
reached  Lautrec  upon  hearing  that  already  a  decisive 
battle  had  been  fought  and  that  our  side  had  suffered 
a  crushing  defeat."   He  uttered  a  weary  sigh. 

" God  help  us,  monsieur!  Monseigneur  de  Richelieu 
is  likely  to  have  his  way  with  us.  But  let  that  be  for 
the  present.  You  are  here,  and  you  are  safe.  As  yet 
no  suspicion  rests  on  Lavedan.  I  was,  as  I  have  said, 
too  late  for  the  fight,  and  so  I  came  quietly  back  to 
save  my  skin,  that  I  might  serve  the  Cause  in  what- 
ever other  way  might  offer  still.  In  sheltering  you  I 
am  serving  Gaston  d'Orleans,  and,  that  I  may  con- 
tinue so  to  do,  I  pray  that  suspicion  may  continue  to 
ignore  me.  If  they  were  to  learn  of  it  at  Toulouse  — 
or  of  how  with  money  and  in  other  ways  I  have  helped 
this  rebellion  —  I  make  no  doubt  that  my  head  would 
be  the  forfeit  I  should  be  asked  to  pay." 

I  was  aghast  at  the  freedom  of  treasonable  speech 
with  which  this  very  debonnaire  gentleman  ventured 
to  address  an  utter  stranger. 

"But  tell  me.  Monsieur  de  Lesperon,"  resumed  my 
host,  "how  is  it  with  you?" 

I  started  in  fresh  astonishment. 

"How  —  how  do  you  know  that  I  am  Lesperon?"  I 
asked. 

"Ma  foi!"  he  laughed,  "do  you  imagine  I  had 
spoken  so  unreservedly  to  a  man  of  whom  I  knew 
nothing?  Think  better  of  me,  monsieur,  I  beseech 
you.  I  found  these  letters  in  your  pocket  last  night, 
and  their  superscription  gave  me  your  identity.  Your 
name  is  well  known  to  me,"  he  added.   "My  friend 


48  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

Monsieur  de  Marsac  has  often  spoken  of  you  and  ot 
your  devotion  to  the  Cause,  and  it  affords  me  nc  little 
satisfaction  to  be  of  some  service  to  one  whom  by 
repute  I  have  already  learned  to  esteem." 

I  lay  back  on  my  pillows,  and  I  groaned.  Here  was 
a  predicament !  Mistaking  me  for  that  miserable  rebel 
I  had  succoured  at  Mirepoix,  and  whose  letters  I  bore 
upon  me  that  I  might  restore  them  to  some  one  whose 
name  he  had  failed  to  give  me  at  the  last  moment,  the 
Vicomte  de  Lavedan  had  poured  the  damning  story  of 
his  treason  into  my  ears. 

What  if  I  were  now  to  enlighten  him  ?  What  if  I  were 
to  tell  him  that  I  was  not  Lesperon  —  no  rebel  at 
all,  in  fact  —  but  Marcel  de  Bardelys,  the  King's  fa- 
vourite? That  he  would  account  me  a  spy  I  hardly 
thought;  but  assuredly  he  would  see  that  my  life  must 
be  a  danger  to  his  own;  he  must  fear  betrayal  from  me, 
and  to  protect  himself  he  would  be  justified  in  taking 
extreme  measures.  Rebels  were  not  addicted  to  an 
excess  of  niceness  in  their  methods,  and  it  was  more 
likely  that  I  should  rise  no  more  from  the  luxurious 
bed  on  which  his  hospitality  had  laid  me.  But  even  if 
I  had  exaggerated  matters,  and  the  Vicomte  were  not 
quite  so  bloodthirsty  as  was  usual  with  his  order,  even 
if  he  chose  to  accept  my  promise  that  I  would  forget 
what  he  had  said,  he  must  nevertheless  —  in  view  of 
his  indiscretion  —  demand  my  instant  withdrawal 
from  Lavedan.  And  what,  then,  of  my  wager  with 
Chatellerault? 

Then,  in  thinking  of  my  wager,  I  came  to  think  of 
Roxalanne  herself — that  dainty,  sweet-faced  child 
into  whose  chamber  I  had  penetrated  on  the  previous 
night.  And  would  you  believe  it  that  I  —  the  satiated. 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  LAVEDAN  49 

cynical,  unbelieving  Bardelys  —  experienced  dismay 
at  the  very  thought  of  leaving  Lavedan  for  no  other 
reason  than  because  it  involved  seeing  no  more  of 
that  provincial  damsel? 

My  unwillingness  to  be  driven  from  her  presence 
determined  me  to  stay.  I  had  come  to  Lavedan  as 
Lesperon,  a  fugitive  rebel.  In  that  character  I  had  all 
but  announced  myself  last  night  to  Mademoiselle.  In 
that  character  I  had  been  welcomed  by  her  father.  In 
that  character,  then,  I  must  remain,  that  I  might  be 
near  her,  that  I  might  woo  and  win  her,  and  thus  — 
though  this,  I  swear,  had  now  become  a  minor  con- 
sideration with  me  —  make  good  my  boast  and  win 
the  wager  that  must  otherwise  involve  my  ruin. 

As  I  lay  back  with  closed  eyes  and  gave  myself  over 
to  pondering  the  situation,  I  took  a  pleasure  oddly 
sweet  in  the  prospect  of  urging  my  suit  under  such 
circumstances.  Chatellerault  had  given  me  a  free 
hand.  I  was  to  go  about  the  wooing  of  Mademoiselle 
de  Lavedan  as  I  chose.  But  he  had  cast  it  at  me  in  de- 
fiance that  not  with  all  my  magnificence,  not  with  all 
my  retinue  and  all  my  state  to  dazzle  her,  should  I 
succeed  in  melting  the  coldest  heart  in  France. 

And  now,  behold!  I  had  cast  from  me  all  these  out- 
ward embellishments;  I  came  without  pomp,  denuded 
of  every  emblem  of  wealth,  of  every  sign  of  power;  as 
a  poor  fugitive  gentleman,  I  came,  hunted,  proscribed, 
and  penniless  —  for  Lesperon's  estate  would  assuredly 
suffer  sequestration.  To  win  her  thus  would,  by  my 
faith,  be  an  exploit  I  might  take  pride  in,  a  worthy 
achievement  to  encompass. 

And  so  I  left  things  as  they  were,  and  since  I  offered 
no  denial  to  the  identity  that  was  thrust  upon  me,  as 


50  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

Lesperon  I  continued  to  be  known  to  the  Vicomte  and 
to  his  family. 

Presently  he  called  the  old  man  to  my  bedside  and  I 
heard  them  talking  of  my  condition. 

"You  think,  then,  Anatole,"  he  said  in  the  end, 
"that  in  three  or  four  days  Monsieur  de  Lesperon 
may  be  able  to  rise?" 

"I  am  assured  of  it,"  replied  the  old  servant. 

Whereupon,  turning  to  me,  "  Be  therefore  of  good 
courage,  monsieur,"  said  Lavedan,  "for  your  hurt  is 
none  so  grievous  after  all." 

I  was  muttering  my  thanks  and  my  assurances  that 
I  was  in  excellent  spirits,  when  we  were  suddenly  dis- 
turbed by  a  rumbling  noise  as  of  distant  thunder. 

"Mort  Dieu!"  swore  the  Vicomte,  a  look  of  alarm 
coming  into  his  face.  With  a  bent  head,  he  stood,  in  a 
listening  attitude. 

"What  is  it?"  I  inquired. 

"Horsemen  —  on  the  drawbridge,"  he  answered 
shortly.   "A  troop,  by  the  sound." 

And  then,  in  confirmation  of  these  words,  followed 
a  stamping  and  rattle  of  hoofs  on  the  flags  of  the 
courtyard  below.  The  old  servant  stood  wringing 
his  hands  in  helpless  terror,  and  wailing,  "  Monsieur, 


monsieur 


But  the  Vicomte  crossed  rapidly  to  the  window  and 
looked  out.  Then  he  laughed  with  intense  relief;  and 
in  a  wondering  voice  — 

"They  are  not  troopers,"  he  announced.  "They 
have  more  the  air  of  a  company  of  servants  in  pri- 
vate livery;  and  there  is  a  carriage  —  pardieu,  two 
carriages!" 

At  once  the  memory  of  Rodenard  and  my  followers 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  LAVED  AN  51 

occurred  to  me,  and  I  thanked  Heaven  that  I  was  abed 
where  he  might  not  see  me,  and  that  thus  he  would 
probably  be  sent  forth  empty-handed  with  the  news 
that  his  master  was  neither  arrived  nor  expected. 

But  in  that  surmise  I  went  too  fast.  Ganymede 
was  of  a  tenacious  mettle,  and  of  this  he  now  afforded 
proof.  Upon  learning  that  naught  was  known  of  the 
Marquis  de  Bardelys  at  Lavedan,  my  faithful  hench- 
man announced  his  intention  to  remain  there  and 
await  me,  since  that  was,  he  assured  the  Vicomte,  my 
destination. 

"My  first  impulse,"  said  Lavedan,  when  later  he 
came  to  tell  me  of  it,  "was  incontinently  to  order  his 
departure.  But  upon  considering  the  matter  and  re- 
membering how  high  in  power  and  in  the  King's  fa- 
vour stands  that  monstrous  libertine  Bardelys,  I 
deemed  it  wiser  to  afford  shelter  to  this  outrageous 
retinue.  His  steward  —  a  flabby,  insolent  creature  — 
says  that  Bardelys  left  them  last  night  near  Mirepoix, 
to  ride  hither,  bidding  them  follow  to-day.  Curious 
that  we  should  have  no  news  of  him !  That  he  should 
have  fallen  into  the  Garonne  and  drowned  himself 
were  too  great  a  good  fortune  to  be  hoped  for." 

The  bitterness  with  which  he  spoke  of  me  afforded 
me  ample  cause  for  congratulation  that  I  had  resolved 
to  accept  the  role  of  Lesperon.  Yet,  remembering 
that  my  father  and  he  had  been  good  friends,  his 
manner  left  me  nonplussed.  What  cause  could  he  have 
for  this  animosity  to  the  son?  Could  it  be  merely  my 
position  at  Court  that  made  me  seem  in  his  rebel  eyes 
a  natural  enemy? 

"You  are  acquainted  with  this  Bardelys?"  I  in- 
quired, by  way  of  drawing  him. 


p  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

"I  knew  his  father,"  he  answered  gruffly.  "An 
honest,  upright  gentleman." 

"And  the  son,"  I  inquired  timidly,  "has  he  none  of 
these  virtues?" 

"I  know  not  what  virtues  he  may  have;  his  vices 
are  known  to  all  the  world.  He  is  a  libertine,  a  gambler, 
a  rake,  a  spendthrift.  They  say  he  is  one  of  the  King's 
favourites,  and  that  his  monstrous  extravagances  have 
earned  for  him  the  title  of '  Magnificent.' "  He  uttered 
a  short  laugh.  "A  fit  servant  for  such  a  master  as 
Louis  the  Just!" 

"  Monsieur  le  Vicomte,"  said  I,  warming  in  my  own 
defence,  "  I  swear  you  do  him  injustice.  He  is  extrava- 
gant, but  then  he  is  rich;  he  is  a  libertine,  but  then  he 
is  young,  and  he  has  been  reared  among  libertines;  he 
is  a  gamester,  but  punctiliously  honourable  at  play. 
Believe  me,  monsieur,  I  have  some  acquaintance  with 
Marcel  de  Bardelys,  and  his  vices  are  hardly  so  black 
as  is  generally  believed;  whilst  in  his  favour  I  think 
the  same  may  be  said  that  you  have  just  said  of  his 
father  —  he  is  an  honest,  upright  gentleman." 

"And  that  disgraceful  affair  with  the  Duchesse  de 
Bourgogne .'' "  inquired  Lavedan,  with  the  air  of  a  man 
setting  an  unanswerable  question. 

"Mon  Dieu!"  I  cried,  "will  the  world  never  forget 
that  indiscretion.?  An  indiscretion  of  youth,  no  doubt 
much  exaggerated  outside  Court  circles." 

The  Vicomte  eyed  me  in  some  astonishment  for  a 
moment. 

"Monsieur  de  Lesperon,"  he  said  at  length,  "you 
appear  to  hold  this  Bardelys  in  high  esteem.  He  has  a 
staunch  supporter  in  you  and  a  stout  advocate.  Yet 
me  you  cannot  convince."   And  he  shook  his  head 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  LAVfiDAN  S3 

solemnly.  "Even  if  I  did  not  hold  him  to  be  such  a 
man  as  I  have  pronounced  him,  but  were  to  account 
him  a  paragon  of  all  the  virtues,  his  coming  hither  re- 
mains an  act  that  I  must  resent." 

"But  why,  Monsieur  le  Vicomte?" 

"Because  I  know  the  errand  that  brings  him  to 
Lavedan.   He  comes  to  woo  my  daughter." 

Had  he  flung  a  bomb  into  my  bed,  he  could  not 
more  effectively  have  startled  me. 

"It  astonishes  you,  eh ? "  he  laughed  bitterly.  " But 
I  can  assure  you  that  it  is  so.  A  month  ago  I  was 
visited  by  the  Comte  de  Chatellerault  —  another  of 
His  Majesty's  fine  favourites.  He  came  unbidden; 
offered  no  reason  for  his  coming,  save  that  he  was 
making  a  tour  of  the  province  for  his  amusement.  His 
acquaintance  with  me  was  of  the  slightest,  and  I  had 
no  desire  that  it  should  increase;  yet  here  he  installed 
himself  with  a  couple  of  servants,  and  bade  fair  to 
make  a  long  stay. 

"I  was  surprised,  but  on  the  morrow  I  had  an 
explanation.  A  courier,  arriving  from  an  old  friend  of 
mine  at  Court,  bore  me  a  letter  with  the  information 
that  Monsieur  de  Chatellerault  was  come  to  Lavedan 
at  the  King's  instigation  to  sue  for  my  daughter's  hand 
in  marriage.  The  reasons  were  not  far  to  seek.  The 
King,  who  loves  him,  would  enrich  him;  the  easiest 
way  is  by  a  wealthy  alliance,  and  Roxalanne  is 
accounted  an  heiress.  In  addition  to  that,  my  own 
power  in  the  province  is  known,  whilst  my  defec- 
tion from  the  Cardinalist  party  is  feared.  What  bet- 
ter link  wherewith  to  attach  me  again  to  the  for- 
tunes of  the  Crown  —  for  Crown  and  Mitre  have 
grown  to  be  synonymous  in  this  topsy-turvy  France 


54  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENl' 

—  than  to  wed  my  daughter  to  one  of  the  King's 
favourites? 

"But  for  that  timely  warning,  God  knows  what 
mischief  had  been  wrought.  As  it  was,  Monsieur  de 
Chatellerault  had  but  seen  my  daughter  upon  two 
occasions.  On  the  very  day  that  I  received  the  tidings 
I  speak  of,  I  sent  her  to  Auch  to  the  care  of  some 
relatives  of  her  mother's.  Chatellerault  remained  a 
week.  Then,  growing  restive,  he  asked  when  my 
daughter  would  return.  '  When  you  depart,  monsieur,' 
I  answered  him,  and,  being  pressed  for  reasons,  I  dealt 
so  frankly  with  him  that  within  twenty-four  hours  he 
was  on  his  way  back  to  Paris." 

The  Vicomte  paused  and  took  a  turn  in  the  apart- 
ment, whilst  I  pondered  his  words,  which  were  bring- 
ing me  a  curious  revelation.   Presently  he  resumed. 

"And  now,  Chatellerault  having  failed  in  his  pur- 
pose, the  King  chooses  a  more  dangerous  person  for 
the  gratifying  of  his  desires.  He  sends  the  Marquis 
Marcel  de  Bardelys  to  Lavedan  on  the  same  business. 
No  doubt  he  attributes  Chatellerault's  failure  to 
clumsiness,  and  he  has  decided  this  time  to  choose  a 
man  famed  for  courtly  address  and  gifted  with  such 
arts  of  dalliance  that  he  cannot  fail  but  enmesh  my 
daughter  in  them.  It  is  a  great  compliment  that  he 
pays  us  in  sending  hither  the  handsomest  and  most 
accomplished  gentleman  of  all  his  Court  —  so  fame 
has  it  —  yet  it  is  a  compliment  of  whose  flattery  I  am 
not  sensible.  Bardelys  goes  hence  as  empty-handed  as 
went  Chatellerault.  Let  him  but  show  his  face,  and 
my  daughter  journeys  to  Auch  again.  Am  I  not  well 
advised.  Monsieur  de  Lesperon?" 

"Why,  yes,"  I  answered  slowly,  after  the  manner 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  LAVEDAN  sS 

of  one  who  deliberates,  "if  you  are  persuaded  that 
your  conclusions  touching  Bardelys  are  correct." 

"I  am  more  than  persuaded.  What  other  business 
could  bring  him  to  Lavedan?" 

It  was  a  question  that  I  did  not  attempt  to  answer. 
Haply  he  did  not  expect  me  to  answer  it.  He  left  me 
free  to  ponder  another  issue  of  this  same  business  of 
which  my  mind  was  become  very  full.  Chatellerault 
had  not  dealt  fairly  with  me.  Often,  since  I  had  left 
Paris,  had  I  marvelled  that  he  came  to  be  so  rash  as  to 
risk  his  fortune  upon  a  matter  that  turned  upon  a 
woman's  whim.  That  I  possessed  undeniable  ad- 
vantages of  person,  of  birth,  and  of  wealth,  Chatelle- 
rault could  not  have  disregarded.  Yet  these,  and  the 
possibility  that  they  might  suffice  to  engage  this 
lady's  affections,  he  appeared  to  have  set  at  naught 
when  he  plunged  into  that  rash  wager. 

He  must  have  realized  that  because  he  had  failed 
was  no  reason  to  presume  that  I  must  also  fail.  There 
was  no  consequence  in  such  an  argument,  and  often, 
as  I  have  said,  had  I  marvelled  during  the  past  days 
at  the  readiness  with  which  Chatellerault  had  flung 
down  the  gage.  Now  I  held  the  explanation  of  it.  He 
counted  upon  the  Vicomte  de  Lavedan  to  reason 
precisely  as  he  was  reasoning,  and  he  was  confident 
that  no  opportunities  would  be  afforded  me  of  so  much 
as  seeing  this  beautiful  and  cold  Roxalanne. 

It  was  a  wily  trap  he  had  set  me,  worthy  only  of  a 
trickster. 

Fate,  however,  had  taken  a  hand  in  the  game,  and 
the  cards  were  redealt  since  I  had  left  Paris.  The 
terms  of  the  wager  permitted  me  to  choose  any  line  of 
action  that  I  considered  desirable;  but  Destiny,  it 


56  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

seemed,  had  chosen  for  me,  and  set  me  in  a  line  that 
should  at  least  suffice  to  overcome  the  parental  re- 
sistance —  that  breastwork  upon  which  Chatellerault 
had  so  confidently  depended. 

As  the  rebel  Rene  de  Lesperon  I  was  sheltered  at 
Lav^dan  and  made  welcome  by  my  fellow-rebel  the 
Vicomte,  who  already  seemed  much  taken  with  me, 
and  who  had  esteemed  me  before  seeing  me  from  the 
much  that  Monsieur  de  Marsac  —  whoever  he  might 
be  —  had  told  him  of  me.  As  Rene  de  Lesperon  I 
must  remain,  and  turn  to  best  account  my  sojourn, 
praying  God  meanwhile  that  this  same  Monsieur  de 
Marsac  might  be  pleased  to  refrain  from  visiting 
Lavedan  whilst  I  was  there. 


CHAPTER  VI 

IN  CONVALESCENCE 

OF  the  week  that  followed  my  coming  to  Lave- 
dan  I  find  some  difficulty  in  writing.  It  was  for 
me  a  time  very  crowded  with  events  —  events  that 
appeared  to  be  moulding  my  character  anew  and 
making  of  me  a  person  different,  indeed,  from  that 
Marcel  de  Bardelys  whom  in  Paris  they  called  the 
Magnificent.  Yet  these  events,  although  significant  in 
their  total,  were  of  so  vague  and  slight  a  nature  in 
their  detail,  that  when  I  come  to  write  of  them  I  find 
really  little  that  I  may  set  down. 

Rodenard  and  his  companions  remained  for  two 
days  at  the  chateau,  and  to  me  his  sojourn  there  was  a 
source  of  perpetual  anxiety,  for  I  knew  not  how  far  the 
fool  might  see  fit  to  prolong  it.  It  was  well  for  me  that 
this  anxiety  of  mine  was  shared  by  Monsieur  de 
Lavedan,  who  disliked  at  such  a  time  the  presence  of 
men  attached  to  one  who  was  so  notoriously  of  the 
King's  party.  He  came  at  last  to  consult  me  as  ta 
what  measures  might  be  taken  to  remove  them,  and  I 
—  nothing  loath  to  conspire  with  him  to  so  desirable 
an  end  —  bade  him  suggest  to  Rodenard  that  perhaps 
evil  had  befallen  Monsieur  de  Bardelys,  and  that,  in- 
stead of  wasting  his  time  at  Lavedan,  he  were  better 
advised  to  be  searching  the  province  for  his  master. 

This  counsel  the  Vicomte  adopted,  and  with  such 
excellent  results  that  that  very  day  —  within  the 
hour,  in  fact  —  Ganymede,  aroused  to  a  sense  of  his 


58  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

proper  duty,  set  out  in  quest  of  me,  not  a  little  dis- 
turbed in  mind  —  for  with  all  his  shortcomings  the 
rascal  loved  me  very  faithfully. 

That  was  on  the  third  day  of  my  sojourn  at  Lavedan. 
On  the  morrow  I  rose,  my  foot  being  sufficiently  re- 
covered to  permit  it.  I  felt  a  little  weak  from  loss 
of  blood,  but  Anatole  —  who,  for  all  his  evil  counte- 
nance, was  a  kindly  and  gentle  servant  —  was  confi- 
dent that  a  few  days  —  a  week  at  most  —  would  see 
me  completely  restored. 

Of  leaving  Lavedan  I  said  nothing.  But  the  Vi- 
comte,  who  was  one  of  the  most  generous  and  noble- 
hearted  men  that  it  has  ever  been  my  good  fortune  to 
meet,  forestalled  any  mention  of  my  departure  by 
urging  that  I  should  remain  at  the  chateau  until  my 
recovery  were  completed,  and,  for  that  matter,  as  long 
thereafter  as  should  suit  my  inclinations. 

"At  Lavedan  you  will  be  safe,  my  friend,"  he 
assured  me;  "  for,  as  I  have  told  you,  we  are  under  no 
suspicion.  Let  me  urge  you  to  remain  until  the  King 
shall  have  desisted  from  further  persecuting  us." 

And  when  I  protested  and  spoke  of  trespassing,  he 
waived  the  point  with  a  brusqueness  that  amounted 
almost  to  anger. 

"  Believe,  monsieur,  that  I  am  pleased  and  honoured 
at  serving  one  who  has  so  stoutly  served  the  Cause  and 
sacrificed  so"  much  to  it." 

At  that,  being  not  altogether  dead  to  shame,  I 
winced,  and  told  myself  that  my  behaviour  was  un- 
worthy, and  that  I  was  practising  a  detestable  de- 
ception. Yet  some  indulgence  I  may  justly  claim  in 
consideration  of  how  far  I  was  victim  of  circumstance. 
Did  I  tell  him  that  I  was  Bardelys,  I  was  convinced 


IN  CONVALESCENCE  59 

that  I  should  never  leave  the  chateau  alive.  Very 
noble-hearted  was  the  Vicomte,  and  no  man  have  I 
known  more  averse  to  bloodthirstiness,  but  he  had 
told  me  much  during  the  days  that  I  had  lain  abed, 
and  many  lives  would  be  jeopardized  did  I  proclaim 
what  I  had  learned  from  him.  Hence  I  argued  that 
any  disclosure  of  my  identity  must  perforce  drive  him 
to  extreme  measures  for  the  sake  of  the  friends  he  had 
unwittingly  betrayed. 

On  the  day  after  Rodenard's  departure  I  dined  with 
the  family,  and  met  again  Mademoiselle  de  Lavedan, 
whom  I  had  not  seen  since  the  balcony  adventure  of 
some  nights  ago.  The  Vicomtesse  was  also  present,  a 
lady  of  very  austere  and  noble  appearance  —  lean  as 
a  pike  and  with  a  most  formidable  nose  —  but,  as  I 
was  soon  to  discover,  with  a  mind  inclining  overmuch 
to  scandal  and  the  high-seasoned  talk  of  the  Courts  in 
which  her  girlhood  had  been  spent. 

From  her  lips  I  heard  that  day  the  old,  scandalous 
story  of  Monseigneur  de  Richelieu's  early  passion  for 
Anne  of  Austria.  With  much  unction  did  she  tell  us 
how  the  Queen  had  lured  His  Eminence  to  dress  him- 
self in  the  motley  of  a  jester  that  she  might  make  a 
mock  of  him  in  the  eyes  of  the  courtiers  she  had  con- 
cealed behind  the  arras  of  her  chamber. 

This  anecdote  she  gave  us  with  much  wealth  of  dis- 
creditable detail  and  scant  regard  for  either  her 
daughter's  presence  or  for  the  blushes  that  suffused 
the  poor  child's  cheeks.  In  every  way  she  was  a 
pattern  of  the  class  of  women  amongst  whom  my 
youth  had  been  spent,  a  class  which  had  done  so  much 
towards  shattering  my  faith  and  lowering  my  estimate 
of  her  sex.  Lavedan  had  married  her  and  brought  her 


06  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

into  Languedoc,  and  here  she  spent  her  years  lament- 
ing the  scenes  of  her  youth,  and  prone,  it  would  seem, 
to  make  them  matter  for  conversation  whenever  a 
newcomer  chanced  to  present  himself  at  the  chateau. 

Looking  from  her  to  her  daughter,  I  thanked 
Heaven  that  Roxalanne  was  no  reproduction  of  the 
mother.  She  had  inherited  as  little  of  her  character  as 
of  her  appearance.  Both  in  feature  and  in  soul  Made- 
moiselle de  Lavedan  was  a  copy  of  that  noble,  gallant 
gentleman,  her  father. 

One  other  was  present  at  that  meal,  of  whom  I  shall 
have  more  to  say  hereafter.  This  was  a  young  man  of 
good  presence,  save,  perhaps,  a  too  obtrusive  foppish- 
ness, whom  Monsieur  de  Lavedan  presented  to  me  as 
a  distant  kinsman  of  theirs,  one  Chevalier  de  Saint- 
Eustache.  He  was  very  tall  —  of  fully  my  own  height 
—  and  of  an  excellent  shape,  although  extremely 
young.  But  his  head  if  anything  was  too  small  for  his 
body,  and  his  good-natured  mouth  was  of  a  weakness 
that  was  confirmed  by  the  significance  of  his  chin, 
whilst  his  eyes  were  too  closely  set  to  augur  frankness. 

He  was  a  pleasant  fellow,  seemingly  of  that  negative 
pleasantness  that  lies  in  inoffensiveness,  but  other- 
wise dull  and  of  an  untutored  mind  —  rustic,  as  might 
be  expected  in  one  the  greater  part  of  whose  life  had 
been  spent  in  his  native  province,  and  of  a  rusticity 
rendered  all  the  more  flagrant  by  the  very  efforts  he 
exerted  to  dissemble  it. 

It  was  after  madame  had  related  that  unsavoury 
anecdote  touching  the  Cardinal  that  he  turned  to  ask 
me  whether  I  was  well  acquainted  with  the  Court.  I 
was  near  to  committing  the  egregious  blunder  of 
laughing  in  his  face;  but,  recollecting  myself  betimes. 


IN  CONVALESCENCE  6l 

I  answered  vaguely  that  I  had  some  knowledge  of  it, 
whereupon  he  all  but  caused  me  to  bound  from  my 
chair  by  asking  me  had  I  ever  met  the  Magnificent 
Bardelys. 

"I — I  am  acquainted  with  him,"  I  answered 
Warily.  "Why  do  you  ask?" 

"  I  was  reminded  of  him  by  the  fact  that  his  servants 
have  been  here  for  two  days.  You  were  expecting  the 
Marquis  himself,  were  you  not.  Monsieur  le  Vicomte  ? " 

Lavedan  raised  his  head  suddenly,  after  the  manner 
of  a  man  who  has  received  an  affront. 

**  I  was  not.  Chevalier,"  he  answered,  with  emphasis. 
"His  intendant,  an  insolent  knave  of  the  name  of 
Rodenard,  informed  me  that  this  Bardelys  projected 
visiting  me.  He  has  not  come,  and  I  devoutly  hope 
that  he  may  not  come.  Trouble  enough  had  I  to  rid 
myself  of  his  servants,  and  but  for  Monsieur  de 
Lesperon's  well-conceived  suggestion  they  might  still 
be  here." 

"You  have  never  met  him,  monsieur?"  inquired 
the  Chevalier. 

"Never,"  replied  our  host  in  such  a  way  that  any 
but  a  fool  must  have  understood  that  he  desired 
nothing  less  than  such  a  meeting. 

"A  delightful  fellow,"  murmured  Saint-Eustache 
—  "a  brilliant,  dazzling  personality." 

"You  —  you  are  acquainted  with  him?"  I  asked. 

"Acquainted?"  echoed  that  boastful  har.  "We 
were  as  brothers." 

"How  you  interest  me!  And  why  have  you  never 
told  us?"  quoth  madame,  her  eyes  turned  enviously 
upon  the  young  man  —  as  enviously  as  were  Lavedan 's 
turned  in  disgust.   "It  is  a  thousand  pities  that  Mon- 


6a  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

sicur  de  Bardelys  has  altered  his  plans  and  is  no 
longer  coming  to  us.  To  meet  such  a  man  is  to  breathe 
again  the  air  of  the  grand  monde.  You  remember. 
Monsieur  de  Lesperon,  that  affair  with  the  Duchesse 
de  Bourgogne?"  And  she  smiled  wickedly  in  my 
direction. 

"I  have  some  recollection  of  it,"  I  answered  coldly. 
**But  I  think  that  rumour  exaggerates.  When 
tongues  wag,  a  little  rivulet  is  often  described  as  a 
mountain  torrent." 

"You  would  not  say  so  did  you  but  know  what  I 
know,"  she  informed  me  roguishly.  "Often,  I  confess, 
rumour  may  swell  the  importance  of  such  an  affaire, 
but  in  this  case  I  do  not  think  that  rumour  does  it 
justice." 

I  made  a  deprecatory  gesture,  and  I  would  have  had 
the  subject  changed,  but  ere  I  could  make  an  effort 
to  that  end,  the  fool  Saint-Eustache  was  babbling 
again. 

"You  remember  the  duel  that  was  fought  in  conse- 
quence. Monsieur  de  Lesperon?" 

"Yes,"  I  assented  wearily. 

"And  in  which  a  poor  young  fellow  lost  his  life," 
growled  the  Vicomte.  "It  was  practically  a  murder." 

"Nay,  monsieur,"  I  cried,  with  a  sudden  heat  that 
set  them  staring  at  me;  "there  you  do  him  wrong. 
Monsieur  de  Bardelys  was  opposed  to  the  best  blade 
in  France.  The  man's  reputation  as  a  swordsman  was 
of  such  a  quality  that  for  a  twelvemonth  he  had  been 
living  upon  it,  doing  all  manner  of  unseemly  things 
immune  from  punishment  by  the  fear  in  which  he  was 
universally  held.  His  behaviour  in  the  unfortunate 
affair  we  are  discussing  was  of  a  particularly  shameful 


IN  CONVALESCENCE  6^ 

character.  Oh,  I  know  the  details,  messieurs,  I  can 
assure  you.  He  thought  to  impose  his  reputation  upon 
Bardelys  as  he  had  imposed  it  upon  a  hundred  others, 
but  Bardelys  was  over-tough  for  his  teeth.  He  sent 
that  notorious  young  gentleman  a  challenge,  and  on 
the  following  morning  he  left  him  dead  in  the  horse- 
market  behind  the  Hotel  Vendome.  But  far  from  a 
murder,  monsieur,  it  was  an  act  of  justice,  and  the 
most  richly  earned  punishment  with  which  ever  man 
was  visited." 

"Even  if  so,"  cried  the  Vicomte  in  some  surprise, 
"why  all  this  heat  to  defend  a  brawler?" 

"A  brawler?"  I  repeated  after  him.  "Oh,  no.  That 
is  a  charge  his  worst  enemies  cannot  make  against 
Bardelys.  He  is  no  brawler.  The  duel  in  question  was 
his  first  affair  of  the  kind,  and  it  has  been  his  last,  for 
unto  him  has  clung  the  reputation  that  had  belonged 
until  then  to  La  Vertoile,  and  there  is  none  in  France 
bold  enough  to  send  a  challenge  to  him."  And,  seeing 
what  surprise  I  was  provoking,  I  thought  it  well  to  in- 
volve another  with  me  in  his  defence.  So,  turning  to 
the  Chevalier,  "I  am  sure,"  said  I,  "that  Monsieur  de 
Saint-Eustache  will  confirm  my  words." 

Thereupon,  his  vanity  being  all  aroused,  the  Cheva- 
lier set  himself  to  paraphrase  all  that  I  had  said  with 
a  heat  that  cast  mine  into  a  miserable  insignificance. 

"At  least,"  laughed  the  Vicomte  at  length,  "he 
lacks  not  for  champions.  For  my  own  part,  I  am 
content  to  pray  Heaven  that  he  come  not  to  Lave- 
dan,  as  he  intended." 

"Mais  voyons,  Gaston,"  the  Vicomtesse  protested, 
"why  harbour  prejudice?  Wait  at  least  until  you  have 
seen  him,  that  you  may  judge  him  for  yourself." 


64  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

"Already  have  I  judged  him;  I  pray  that  I  may 
never  see  him." 

"They  tell  me  he  is  a  very  handsome  man,"  said 
she,  appealing  to  me  for  confirmation. 

Lavedan  shot  her  a  sudden  glance  of  alarm,  at 
which  I  could  have  laughed.  Hitherto  his  sole  concern 
had  been  his  daughter,  but  it  suddenly  occurred  to 
him  that  perhaps  not  even  her  years  might  set  the 
Vicomtesse  in  safety  from  imprudences  with  this  de- 
vourer  of  hearts,  should  he  still  chance  to  come  that 
way. 

"Madame,"  I  answered,  "he  is  accounted  not  ill- 
favoured."  And  with  a  deprecatory  smile  I  added,  **  I 
am  said  somewhat  to  resemble  him." 

"  Say  you  so? "  she  exclaimed,  raising  her  eyebrows, 
and  looking  at  me  more  closely  than  hitherto.  And 
then  it  seemed  to  me  that  into  her  face  crept  a  shade 
of  disappointment.  If  this  Bardelys  were  not  more 
beautiful  than  I,  then  he  was  not  nearly  so  beautiful 
a  man  as  she  had  imagined.  She  turned  to  Saint- 
Eustache. 

"It  is  indeed  so.  Chevalier?"  she  inquired.  "Do 
you  note  the  resemblance?" 

"  Vanitas,  vanitate,"  murmured  the  youth,  who  had 
some  scraps  of  Latin  and  a  taste  for  airing  them.  "  I 
can  see  no  likeness  —  no  trace  of  one.  Monsieur  de 
Lesperon  is  well  enough,  I  should  say.  But  Bardelys ! " 
He  cast  his  eyes  to  the  ceiling.  "There  is  but  one 
Bardelys  in  France." 

"  Enfin,"  I  laughed,  "you  are  no  doubt  well  qualified 
to  judge,  Chevalier.  I  had  flattered  myself  that  some 
likeness  did  exist,  but  probably  you  have  seen  the 
Marquis  more  frequently  than  have  I,  and  probably 


IN  CONVALESCENCE  65 

you  know  him  better.  Nevertheless,  should  he  come 
this  way,  I  will  ask  you  to  look  at  us  side  by  side  and 
be  the  judge  of  the  resemblance." 

"Should  I  happen  to  be  here,"  he  said,  with  a 
sudden  constraint  not  difficult  to  understand,  "I 
shall  be  happy  to  act  as  arbiter." 

"Should  you  happen  to  be  here?"  I  echoed 
questioningly.  "But  surely,  should  you  hear  that 
Monsieur  de  Bardelys  is  about  to  arrive,  you  will  post- 
pone any  departure  you  may  be  on  the  point  of  mak- 
ing, so  that  you  may  renew  this  great  friendship  that 
you  tell  us  you  do  the  Marquis  the  honour  of  enter- 
taining for  him?" 

The  Chevalier  eyed  me  with  the  air  of  a  man  looking 
down  from  a  great  height  upon  another.  The  Vicomte 
smiled  quietly  to  himself  as  he  combed  his  fair  beard 
with  his  forefinger  in  a  meditative  fashion,  whilst  even 
Roxalanne  —  who  had  sat  silently  listening  to  a 
conversation  that  she  was  at  times  mercifully  spared 
from  following  too  minutely  —  flashed  me  a  humor- 
ous glance.  To  the  Vicomtesse  alone  —  who  in 
common  with  women  of  her  type  was  of  a  singular 
obtuseness  —  was  the  situation  without  significance. 

Saint-Eustache,  to  defend  himself  against  my  del- 
icate imputation,  and  to  show  how  well  acquainted 
he  was  with  Bardelys,  plunged  at  once  into  a  thousand 
details  of  that  gentleman's  magnificence.  He  de- 
scribed his  suppers,  his  retinue,  his  equipages,  his 
houses,  his  chateaux,  his  favour  with  the  King,  his 
successes  with  the  fair  sex,  and  I  know  not  what  be- 
sides —  in  all  of  which  I  confess  that  even  to  me  there 
was  a  certain  degree  of  novelty.  Roxalanne  listened 
with  an  air  of  amusement  that  showed  how  well  she 


06  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

read  him.  Later,  when  I  found  myself  alone  with  her 
by  the  river,  whither  we  had  gone  after  the  repast  and 
the  Chevalier's  reminiscences  were  at  an  end,  she 
reverted  to  that  conversation. 

"Is  not  my  cousin  a  great  fanfarron,  monsieur?" 
she  asked. 

"Surely  you  know  your  cousin  better  than  do  I,'* 
I  answered  cautiously.  "Why  question  me  upon  his 
character?" 

"I  was  hardly  questioning;  I  was  commenting.  He 
spent  a  fortnight  in  Paris  once,  and  he  accounts  him- 
self, or  would  have  us  account  him,  intimate  with 
every  courtier  at  the  Luxembourg.  Oh,  he  is  very 
amusing,  this  good  cousin,  but  tiresome  too."  She 
laughed,  and  there  was  the  faintest  note  of  scorn  in 
her  amusement.  "Now,  touching  this  Marquis  de 
Bardelys,  it  is  very  plain  that  the  Chevalier  boasted 
when  he  said  that  they  were  as  brothers  —  he  and  the 
Marquis  —  is  it  not?  He  grew  ill  at  ease  when  you  re- 
minded him  of  the  possibility  of  the  Marquis's  visit  to 
Lavedan."  And  she  laughed  quaintly  to  herself.  "Do 
you  think  that  he  so  much  as  knows  Bardelys?"  she 
asked  me  suddenly. 

"Not  so  much  as  by  sight,"  I  answered.  "He  is  full 
of  information  concerning  that  unworthy  gentleman, 
but  it  is  only  information  that  the  meanest  scullion  in 
Paris  might  afford  you,  and  just  as  inaccurate." 

"Why  do  you  speak  of  him  as  unworthy?  Are  you 
of  the  same  opinion  as  my  father?" 

"Aye,  and  with  better  cause." 

"You  know  him  well?" 

"Know  him?  Pardieu,  he  is  my  worst  enemy.  A 
worn-out  libertine;  a  sneering,  cynical  misogynist;  a 


IN  CONVALESCENCE  67 

nauseated  reveller;  a  hateful  egotist.  There  is  no 
more  unworthy  person,  I'll  swear,  in  all  France. 
Peste!  The  very  memory  of  the  fellow  makes  me  sick. 
Let  us  talk  of  other  things." 

But  although  I  urged  it  with  the  best  will  and  the 
best  intentions  in  the  world,  I  was  not  to  have  my 
way.  The  air  became  suddenly  heavy  with  the  scent 
of  musk,  and  the  Chevalier  de  Saint-Eustache  stood 
before  us,  and  forced  the  conversation  once  more  upon 
the  odious  topic  of  Monsieur  de  Bardelys. 

The  poor  fool  came  with  a  plan  of  campaign  care- 
fully considered,  bent  now  upon  overthrowing  me 
with  the  knowledge  he  would  exhibit,  and  whereby 
he  looked  to  encompass  my  humiliation  before  his 
cousin. 

"Speaking  of  Bardelys,  Monsieur  de  Lesperon  — " 

"My  dear  Chevalier,  we  were  no  longer  speaking  of 
him." 

He  smiled  darkly.   "Let  us  speak  of  him,  then." 

"But  are  there  not  a  thousand  more  interesting 
things  that  we  might  speak  of?" 

This  he  took  for  a  fresh  sign  of  fear,  and  so  he 
pressed  what  he  accounted  his  advantage. 

"Yet  have  patience;  there  is  a  point  on  which  per- 
haps you  can  give  me  some  information." 

"Impossible,"  said  I. 

"Are  you  acquainted  with  the  Duchesse  de  Bour- 
gogne?" 

"I  was,"  I  answered  casually,  and  as  casually  I 
added,  "Are  you?" 

"Excellently  well,"  he  replied  unhesitatingly.  "I 
was  in  Paris  at  the  time  of  the  scandal  with  Bardelys." 

I  looked  up  quickly. 


68  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

"Was  it  then  that  you  met  her?"  I  inquired  in  an 
idle  sort  of  way. 

"  Yes.  I  was  in  the  confidence  of  Bardelys,  and  one 
night  after  we  had  supped  at  his  hotel  —  one  of  those 
suppers  graced  by  every  wit  in  Paris  —  he  asked  me 
if  I  were  minded  to  accompany  him  to  the  Louvre. 
We  went.   A  masque  was  in  progress." 

"Ah,"  said  I,  after  the  manner  of  one  who  suddenly 
takes  in  the  entire  situation;  "and  it  was  at  this 
masque  that  you  met  the  Duchesse?" 

"You  have  guessed  it.  Ah,  monsieur,  if  I  were  to 
tell  you  of  the  things  that  I  witnessed  that  night,  they 
would  amaze  you,"  said  he,  with  a  great  air  and  a 
casual  glance  at  Mademoiselle  to  see  into  what  depths 
of  wonder  these  glimpses  into  his  wicked  past  were 
plunging  her. 

"  I  doubt  it  not,"  said  I,  thinking  that  if  his  imagi- 
nation were  as  fertile  in  that  connection  as  it  had  been 
in  mine  he  was  likely,  indeed,  to  have  some  amazing 
things  to  tell.  "  But  do  I  understand  you  to  say  that 
that  was  the  time  of  the  scandal  you  Have  touched 
upon?" 

"The  scandal  burst  three  days  after  that  masque. 
It  came  as  a  surprise  to  most  people.  As  for  me  — 
from  what  Bardelys  had  told  me  —  I  expected 
nothing  less." 

"Pardon,  Chevalier,  but  how  old  do  you  happen  to 
be?" 

"A  curious  question  that,"  said  he,  knitting  his 
brows. 

"Perhaps.   But  will  you  not  answer  it?" 

"I  am  twenty-one,"  said  he.   "What  of  it?" 

"You  are  twenty,  mon  cousin,"  Roxalanne  cor- 
rected him. 


IN  CONVALESCENCE  69 

He  looked  at  her  a  second  with  an  injured  air. 

"Why,  true  —  twenty!  That  is  so,"  he  acquiesced; 
and  again,  "what  of  it?"  he  demanded. 

"What  of  it,  monsieur?"  I  echoed.  "Will  you  for- 
give me  if  I  express  amazement  at  your  precocity,  and 
congratulate  you  upon  it?" 

His  brows  went  if  possible  closer  together  and  his 
face  grew  very  red.  He  knew  that  somewhere  a  pitfall 
awaited  him,  yet  hardly  where. 

"I  do  not  understand  you." 

"Bethink  you.  Chevalier.  Ten  years  have  flown 
since  this  scandal  you  refer  to.  So  that  at  the  time  of 
your  supping  with  Bardelys  and  the  wits  of  Paris,  at 
the  time  of  his  making  a  confidant  of  you  and  carry- 
ing you  off  to  a  masque  at  the  Louvre,  at  the  time  of 
his  presenting  you  to  the  Duchesse  de  Bourgogne,  you 
were  just  ten  years  of  age.  I  never  had  cause  to  think 
over-well  of  Bardelys,  but  had  you  not  told  me  your- 
self, I  should  have  hesitated  to  believe  him  so  vile  a 
despoiler  of  innocence,  such  a  perverter  of  youth." 

He  crimsoned  to  the  very  roots  of  his  hair. 

Roxalanne  broke  into  a  laugh.  "My  cousin,  my 
cousin,"  she  cried,  "  they  that  would  become  masters 
should  begin  early,  is  it  not  so?" 

"Monsieur  de  Lesperon,"  said  he,  in  a  very  formal 
voice,  "do  you  wish  me  to  apprehend  that  you  have 
put  me  through  this  catechism  for  the  purpose  of 
casting  a  doubt  upon  what  I  have  said?" 

"But  have  I  done  that?  Have  I  cast  a  doubt?"  I 
asked,  with  the  utmost  meekness. 

"So  I  apprehend." 

"Then  you  apprehend  amiss.  Your  words,  I  assure 
you,  admit  of  no  doubt  whatever.  And  now,  monsieur. 


70  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

if  you  will  have  mercy  upon  me,  we  will  talk  of  other 
things.  I  am  so  weary  of  this  unfortunate  Bardelys 
and  his  affairs.  He  may  be  the  fashion  of  Paris  and  at 
Court,  but  down  here  his  very  name  befouls  the  air. 
Mademoiselle,"  I  said,  turning  to  Roxalanne,  "you 
promised  me  a  lesson  in  the  lore  of  flowers." 

"Come,  then,"  said  she,  and,  being  an  exceedingly 
wise  child,  she  plunged  straightway  into  the  history  of 
the  shrubs  about  us. 

Thus  did  we  avert  a  storm  that  for  a  moment  was 
very  imminent.  Yet  some  mischief  was  done,  and 
some  good,  too,  perhaps.  For  if  I  made  an  enemy  of 
the  Chevalier  de  Saint-Eustache  by  humbling  him  in 
the  eyes  of  the  one  woman  before  whom  he  sought  to 
shine,  I  established  a  bond  'twixt  Roxalanne  and  my- 
self by  that  same  humiliation  of  a  foolish  coxcomb 
whose  boastfulness  had  long  wearied  her. 


CHAPTER  VII 
THE  HOSTILITY  OF  SAINT-EUSTACHE 

IN  the  days  that  followed  I  saw  much  of  the  Cheva- 
lier de  Saint-Eustache.  He  was  a  very  constant 
visitor  at  Lavedan,  and  the  reason  of  it  was  not  far  to 
seek.  For  my  own  part,  I  disliked  him  —  I  had  done 
so  from  the  moment  when  first  I  had  set  eyes  on  him 
—  and  since  hatred,  like  affection,  is  often  a  matter  of 
reciprocity,  the  Chevalier  was  not  slow  to  return  my 
dislike.  Our  manner  gradually,  by  almost  impercep- 
tible stages,  grew  more  distant,  until  by  the  end  of  a 
week  it  had  become  so  hostile  that  Lavedan  found 
occasion  to  comment  upon  it. 

"  Beware  of  Saint-Eustache,"  he  warned  me.  "  You 
are  becoming  very  manifestly  distasteful  to  each 
other,  and  I  would  urge  you  to  have  a  care.  I  don't 
trust  him.  His  attachment  to  our  Cause  is  of  a  luke- 
warm character,  and  he  gives  me  uneasiness,  for  he 
may  do  much  harm  if  he  is  so  inclined.  It  is  on  this 
account  that  I  tolerate  his  presence  at  Lavedan. 
Frankly,  I  fear  him,  and  I  would  counsel  you  to  do  no 
less.  The  man  is  a  liar,  even  if  but  a  boastful  liar  — • 
and  liars  are  never  long  out  of  mischief." 

The  wisdom  of  the  words  was  unquestionable,  but 
the  advice  in  them  was  not  easily  followed,  particularly 
by  one  whose  position  was  so  peculiar  as  my  own.  In 
a  way  I  had  little  cause  to  fear  the  harm  the  Chevalier 
might  do  me,  but  I  was  impelled  to  consider  the  harm 
that  at  the  same  time  he  might  do  the  Vicomte. 


72  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

Despite  our  growing  enmity,  the  Chevalier  and  I 
were  very  frequently  thrown  together.  The  reason 
for  this  was,  of  course,  that  wherever  Roxalanne  was 
to  be  found  there,  generally,  were  we  both  to  be  found 
also.  Yet  had  I  advantages  that  must  have  gone  to 
swell  a  rancour  based  as  much  upon  jealousy  as  any 
other  sentiment,  for  whilst  he  was  but  a  daily  visitor 
at  Lavedan,  I  was  established  there  indefinitely. 

Of  the  use  that  I  made  of  that  time  I  find  it  difficult 
to  speak.  From  the  first  moment  that  I  had  beheld 
Roxalanne  I  had  realized  the  truth  of  Chatellerault's 
assertion  that  I  had  never  known  a  woman.  He  was 
right.  Those  that  I  had  met  and  by  whom  I  had 
judged  the  sex  had,  by  contrast  with  this  child,  little 
claim  to  the  title.  Virtue  I  had  accounted  a  shadow 
without  substance;  innocence,  a  synonym  for  igno- 
rance; love,  a  fable,  a  fairy  tale  for  the  delectation  of 
overgrown  children. 

In  the  company  of  Roxalanne  de  Lavedan  all  those 
old,  cynical  beliefs,  built  up  upon  a  youth  of  un- 
desirable experiences,  were  shattered  and  the  error  of 
them  exposed.  Swiftly  was  I  becoming  a  convert  to 
the  faith  which  so  long  I  had  sneered  at,  and  as  love- 
sick as  any  unfledged  youth  in  his  first  amour. 

Dame!  It  was  something  for  a  man  who  had  lived 
as  I  had  lived  to  have  his  pulses  quicken  and  his 
colour  change  at  a  maid's  approach;  to  find  himself 
colouring  under  her  smile  and  paling  under  her  dis- 
dain; to  have  his  mind  running  on  rhymes,  and  his 
soul  so  enslaved  that,  if  she  is  not  to  be  won,  chagrin 
will  dislodge  it  from  his  body. 

Here  was  a  fine  mood  for  a  man  who  had  entered 
upon  his  business  by  pledging  himself  to  win  and  wed 


THE  HOSTILITY  OF  SAINT-EUSTACHE      73 

this  girl  in  cold  and  supreme  indifference  to  her 
personality.  And  that  pledge,  how  I  cursed  it  during 
those  days  at  Lavedan !  How  I  cursed  Chatellerault, 
cunning,  subtle  trickster  that  he  was!  How  I  cursed 
myself  for  my  lack  of  chivalry  and  honour  in  having 
been  lured  so  easily  into  so  damnable  a  business!  For 
when  the  memory  of  that  wager  rose  before  me  it 
brought  despair  in  its  train.  Had  I  found  Roxalanne 
the  sort  of  woman  that  I  had  looked  to  find  —  the 
only  sort  that  I  had  ever  known  —  then  matters  had 
been  easy.  I  had  set  myself  in  cold  blood,  and  by 
such  wiles  as  I  knew,  to  win  such  affection  as  might  be 
hers  to  bestow;  and  I  would  have  married  her  in  much 
the  same  spirit  as  a  man  performs  any  other  of  the 
necessary  acts  of  his  lifetime  and  station.  I  would 
have  told  her  that  I  was  Bardelys,  and  to  the  woman 
that  I  had  expected  to  find  there  had  been  no  difficulty 
in  making  the  confession.  But  to  Roxalanne!  Had 
there  been  no  wager,  I  might  have  confessed  my 
identity.  As  it  was,  I  found  it  impossible  to  avow  the 
one  without  the  other.  For  the  sweet  innocence  that 
invested  her  gentle,  trusting  soul  must  have  given 
pause  to  any  but  the  most  abandoned  of  men  before 
committing  a  vileness  in  connection  with  her. 

We  were  much  together  during  that  week,  and  just 
as  day  by  day,  hour  by  hour,  my  passion  grew  and 
grew  until  it  absorbed  me  utterly,  so,  too,  did  it  seem 
to  me  that  it  awakened  in  her  a  responsive  note.  There 
was  an  odd  light  at  times  in  her  soft  eyes;  I  came  upon 
her  more  than  once  with  snatches  of  love-songs  on  her 
lips,  and  when  she  smiled  upon  me  there  was  a  sweet 
tenderness  in  her  smile,  which,  had  things  been 
different,  would  have  gladdened  my  soul  beyond  all 


74  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

else;  but  which,  things  being  as  they  were,  was  rather 
wont  to  heighten  my  despair.  I  was  no  coxcomb;  I 
had  had  experiences,  and  I  knew  these  signs.  But 
something,  too,  I  guessed  of  the  heart  of  such  a  one  as 
Roxalanne.  To  the  full  I  realized  the  pain  and  shame 
I  should  inflict  upon  her  when  my  confession  came;  I 
realized,  too,  how  the  love  of  this  dear  child,  so  honour- 
able and  high  of  mind,  must  turn  to  contempt  and 
scorn  when  I  plucked  away  my  mask,  and  let  her  see 
how  poor  a  countenance  I  wore  beneath. 

And  yet  I  drifted  with  the  tide  of  things.  It  was  my 
habit  so  to  drift,  and  the  habit  of  a  lifetime  is  not  to  be 
set  at  naught  in  a  day  by  a  resolve,  however  firm.  A 
score  of  times  was  I  reminded  that  an  evil  is  but  in- 
creased by  being  ignored.  A  score  of  times  confession 
trembled  on  my  lips,  and  I  burned  to  tell  her  every- 
thing from  its  inception  —  the  environment  that  had 
erstwhile  warped  me,  the  honesty  by  which  I  was  now 
inspired  —  and  so  cast  myself  upon  the  mercy  of  her 
belief. 

She  might  accept  my  story,  and,  attaching  credit 
to  it,  forgive  me  the  deception  I  had  practised,  and 
recognize  the  great  truth  that  must  ring  out  in  the 
avowal  of  my  love.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  she  might 
not  accept  it;  she  might  deem  my  confession  a  shrewd 
part  of  my  scheme,  and  the  dread  of  that  kept  me 
silent  day  by  day. 

Fully  did  I  see  how  with  every  hour  that  sped  con- 
fession became  more  and  more  difficult.  The  sooner 
the  thing  were  done,  the  greater  the  likelihood  of  my 
being  believed;  the  later  I  left  it,  the  more  probable 
was  it  that  I  should  be  discredited.  Alas!  Bardelys, 
it  seemed,  had  added  cowardice  to  his  other  short- 
comings. 


THE  HOSTILITY  OF  SAINT-EUSTAGHE     75 

As  for  the  coldness  of  Roxalanne,  that  was  a  pretty 
fable  of  Chatellerault's;  or  else  no  more  than  an 
assumption,  an  invention  of  the  imaginative  La 
Fosse.  Far,  indeed,  from  it,  I  found  no  arrogance  or 
coldness  in  her.  All  unversed  in  the  artifices  of  her 
sex,  all  unacquainted  with  the  wiles  of  coquetry,  she 
was  the  very  incarnation  of  naturalness  and  maidenly 
simplicity.  To  the  tales  that  —  with  many  expurga- 
tions —  I  told  her  of  Court  life,  to  the  pictures  that  I 
drew  of  Paris,  the  Luxembourg,  the  Louvre,  the  Pa^ 
lais  Cardinal,  and  the  courtiers  that  thronged  those 
historic  palaces,  she  listened  avidly  and  enthralled; 
and  much  as  Othello  won  the  heart  of  Desdemona  by 
a  recital  of  the  perils  he  had  endured,  so  it  seemed  to 
me  was  I  winning  the  heart  of  Roxalanne  by  telling 
her  of  the  things  that  I  had  seen. 

Once  or  twice  she  expressed  wonder  at  the  depth 
and  intimacy  of  the  knowledge  of  such  matters  ex- 
hibited by  a  simple  Gascon  gentleman,  whereupon 
I  would  urge,  in  explanation,  the  appointment  in  the 
Guards  that  Lesperon  had  held  some  few  years  ago  — 
a  position  that  will  reveal  much  to  an  observant  man. 

The  Vicomte  noted  our  growing  intimacy,  yet  set 
no  restraint  upon  it.  Down  in  his  heart  I  believe  that 
noble  gentleman  would  have  been  well  pleased  had 
matters  gone  to  extremes  between  us,  for  however 
impoverished  he  might  deem  me  —  Lesperon's  estates 
in  Gascony  being,  as  I  have  said,  likely  to  suffer 
sequestration  in  view  of  his  treason  —  he  remembered 
the  causes  of  this  and  the  deep  devotion  of  the  man  I 
impersonated  to  the  affairs  of  Gaston  d'Orleans. 

Again,  he  feared  the  very  obvious  courtship  of  the 
Chevalier  de  Saint-Eustache,  and  he  would  have  wel- 


76  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

corned  a  turn  of  events  that  would  effectually  have 
frustrated  it.  That  he  did  not  himself  interfere  so  far 
as  the  Chevalier's  wooing  was  concerned,  I  could  but 
set  down  to  the  mistrust  of  Saint-Eustache —  amount- 
ing almost  to  fear  —  of  which  he  had  spoken. 

As  for  the  Vicomtesse,  the  same  causes  that  had 
won  me  some  of  the  daughter's  regard  gained  me  also 
no  little  of  the  mother's. 

She  had  been  attached  to  the  Chevalier  until  my 
coming.  But  what  did  the  Chevalier  know  of  the 
great  world  compared  with  what  I  could  tell?  Her 
love  of  scandal  drew  her  to  me  with  inquiries  upon 
this  person  and  that  person,  many  of  them  but  names 
to  her. 

My  knowledge  and  wealth  of  detail  —  for  all  that  I 
curbed  it  lest  I  should  seem  to  know  too  much  —  de- 
lighted her  prurient  soul.  Had  she  been  more  motherly, 
this  same  knowledge  that  I  exhibited  should  have 
made  her  ponder  what  manner  of  life  I  had  led,  and 
should  have  inspired  her  to  account  me  no  fit  com- 
panion for  her  daughter.  But  a  selfish  woman,  little 
mclined  to  be  plagued  by  the  concerns  of  another  — 
even  when  that  other  was  her  daughter  —  she  left 
things  to  the  destructive  course  that  they  were  shap- 
ing. 

And  so  everything  —  if  we  except  perhaps  the 
Chevalier  de  Saint-Eustache  —  conspired  to  the  ad- 
vancement of  my  suit,  in  a  manner  that  must  have 
made  Chatellerault  grind  his  teeth  in  rage  if  he  could 
have  witnessed  it,  but  which  made  me  grind  mine  in 
despair  when  I  pondered  the  situation  in  detail. 

One  evening  —  I  had  been  ten  days  at  the  chateau 
—  we  went  a  half-league  or  so  up  the  Garonne  in  a 


THE  HOSTILITY  OF  SAINT-EUSTACHE     77 

boat,  she  and  I.  As  we  were  returning,  drifting  with 
the  stream,  the  oars  idle  in  my  hand,  I  spoke  of  leav- 
ing Lavedan. 

She  looked  up  quickly;  her  expression  was  almost  of 
alarm,  and  her  eyes  dilated  as  they  met  mine  —  for,  as 
I  have  said,  she  was  all  unversed  in  the  ways  of  her 
sex,  and  by  nature  too  guileless  to  attempt  to  dis- 
guise her  feelings  or  dissemble  them. 

"  But  why  must  you  go  so  soon  ? "  she  asked.  "  You 
are  safe  at  Lavedan,  and  abroad  you  may  be  in 
danger.  It  was  but  two  days  ago  that  they  took  a  poor 
young  gentleman  of  these  parts  at  Pau;  so  that  you 
see  the  persecution  is  not  yet  ended.  Are  you  "  —  and 
her  voice  trembled  never  so  slightly  —  "are  you 
weary  of  us,  monsieur?" 

I  shook  my  head  at  that,  and  smiled  wistfully. 

"Weary?"  I  echoed.  "Surely,  mademoiselle,  you 
do  not  think  it  ?  Surely  your  heart  must  tell  you  some- 
thing very  different?" 

She  dropped  her  eyes  before  the  passion  of  my 
gaze.  And  when  presently  she  answered  me,  there 
was  no  guile  in  her  words;  there  were  the  dictates  of 
the  intuitions  of  her  sex,  and  nothing  more. 

"  But  it  is  possible,  monsieur.  You  are  accustomed 
to  the  great  world  — " 

"The  great  world  of  Lesperon,  in  Gascony?"  I 
interrupted. 

"No,  no;  the  great  world  you  have  inhabited  at 
Paris  and  elsewhere.  I  can  understand  that  at  Lave- 
dan you  should  find  little  of  interest,  and  —  and  that 
your  inactivity  should  render  you  impatient  to  be 
gone." 

"  If  there  were  so  little  to  interest  me  then  it  might 


78  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

be  as  you  say.  But,  oh,  mademoiselle  — "  I  ceased 
abruptly.  Fool!  I  had  almost  fallen  a  prey  to  the 
seductions  that  the  time  afforded  me.  The  balmy, 
languorous  eventide,  the  broad,  smooth  river  adown 
which  we  glided,  the  foliage,  the  shadows  on  the  water, 
her  presence,  and  our  isolation  amid  such  surround- 
ings, had  almost  blotted  out  the  matter  of  the  wager 
and  of  my  duplicity. 

She  laughed  a  little  nervous  laugh,  and  —  maybe  to 
ease  the  tension  that  my  sudden  silence  had  begotten 
—  "You  see,"  she  said,  "how  your  imagination 
deserts  you  when  you  seek  to  draw  upon  it  for  proof  of 
what  you  protest.  You  were  about  to  tell  me  of —  of 
the  interests  that  hold  you  at  Lavedan,  and  when  you 
come  to  ponder  them,  you  find  that  you  tan  think  of 
nothing.  Is  it  —  is  it  not  so.''"  She  put  the  question 
very  timidly,  as  if  half  afraid  of  the  answer  she  might 
provoke. 

"No;  it  is  not  so,"  I  said. 

I  paused  a  moment,  and  in  that  moment  I  wrestled 
with  myself.  Confession  and  avowal  —  confession  of 
what  I  had  undertaken,  and  avowal  of  the  love  that 
had  so  unexpectedly  come  to  me  —  trembled  upon 
my  lips,  to  be  driven  shuddering  away  in  fear. 

Have  I  not  said  that  this  Bardelys  was  become  a 
coward?  Then  my  cowardice  suggested  a  course  to 
me  —  flight.  I  would  leave  Lavedan.  I  would  return 
to  Paris  and  to  Chatellerault,  owning  defeat  and  pay- 
ing my  wager.  It  was  the  only  course  open  to  me.  My 
honour,  so  tardily  aroused,  demanded  no  less.  Yet, 
not  so  much  because  of  that  as  because  it  was  suddenly 
revealed  to  me  as  the  easier  course,  did  I  determine  to 
pursue  it.  What  thereafter  might  become  of  me  I  did 


THE  HOSTILITY  OF  SAINT-EUSTACHE     79 

not  know,  nor  in  that  hour  of  my  heart's  agony  did  it 
seem  to  matter  overmuch. 

"There  is  much,  mademoiselle,  much,  indeed,  to 
hold  me  firmly  at  Lavedan,"  I  pursued  at  last.  "But 
my  —  my  obligations  demand  of  me  that  I  depart," 

"You  mean  the  Cause,"  she  cried.  "But,  believe 
me,  you  can  do  nothing.  To  sacrifice  yourself  cannot 
profit  it.  Infinitely  better  you  can  serve  the  Duke  by 
waiting  until  the  time  is  ripe  for  another  blow.  And 
how  can  you  better  preserve  your  life  than  by  re- 
maining at  Lavedan  until  the  persecutions  are  at  an 
end?" 

"I  was  not  thinking  of  the  Cause,  mademoiselle, 
but  of  myself  alone  —  of  my  own  personal  honour.  I 
would  thatl  could  explain;  but  I  am  afraid,"  I  ended 
lamely. 

"Afraid.''"  she  echoed,  now  raising  her  eyes  in 
wonder. 

"Aye,  afraid.  Afraid  of  your  contempt,  of  your 
scorn." 

The  wonder  in  her  glance  increased  and  asked  a 
question  that  I  could  not  answer.  I  stretched  forward, 
and  caught  one  of  the  hands  lying  idle  in  her  lap. 

"Roxalanne,"  I  murmured  very  gently,  and  my 
tone,  my  touch,  and  the  use  of  her  name  drove  her 
eyes  for  refuge  behind  their  lids  again.  A  flush  spread 
upon  the  ivory  pallor  of  her  face,  to  fade  as  swiftly, 
leaving  it  very  white.  Her  bosom  rose  and  fell  in 
agitation,  and  the  little  hand  I  held  trembled  in  my 
grasp.  There  was  a  moment's  silence.  Not  that  I  had 
need  to  think  or  choose  my  words.  But  there  was  a 
lump  in  my  throat  —  aye,  I  take  no  shame  in  con- 
fessing it,  for  this  was  the  first  time  that  a  good  and 


8o  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

true  emotion  had  been  vouchsafed  me  since  the 
Duchesse  de  Bourgogne  had  shattered  my  illusions 
ten  years  ago. 

"Roxalanne,"  I  resumed  presently,  when  I  was 
more  master  of  myself,  "we  have  been  good  friends, 
you  and  I,  since  that  night  when  I  climbed  for  shelter 
to  your  chamber,  have  we  not?" 

"But  yes,  monsieur,"  she  faltered. 

"  Ten  days  ago  it  is.  Think  of  it  —  no  more  than  ten 
days.  And  it  seems  as  if  I  had  been  months  at  Lav6- 
dan,  so  well  have  we  become  acquainted.  In  these  ten 
days  we  have  formed  opinions  of  each  other.  But  with 
this  difference,  that  whilst  mine  are  right,  yours  are 
wrong.  I  have  come  to  know  you  for  the  sweetest, 
gentlest  saint  in  all  this  world.  Would  to  God  I  had 
known  you  earlier!  It  might  have  been  very  different; 
I  might  have  been  —  I  would  have  been  —  different, 
and  I  would  not  have  done  what  I  have  done.  You 
have  come  to  know  me  for  an  unfortunate  but  honest 
gentleman.  Such  am  I  not.  I  am  under  false  colours 
here,  mademoiselle.  Unfortunate  I  may  be  —  at 
least,  of  late  I  seem  to  have  become  so.  Honest  I  am 
not  —  I  have  not  been.  There,  child,  I  can  tell  you  no 
more.  I  am  too  great  a  coward.  But  when  later  you 
shall  come  to  hear  the  truth  —  when,  after  I  am  gone, 
they  may  tell  you  a  strange  story  touching  this  fellow 
Lesperon  who  sought  the  hospitality  of  your  father's 
house  —  bethink  you  of  my  restraint  in  this  hour;  be- 
think you  of  my  departure.  You  will  understand  these 
things  perhaps  afterwards.  But  bethink  you  of  them, 
and  you  will  unriddle  them  for  yourself,  perhaps.  Be 
merciful  upon  me  then;  judge  me  not  over-harshly." 

I  paused,  and  for  a  moment  we  were  silent.   Then 


THE  HOSTILITY  OF  SAINT-EUSTACHE     8i 

suddenly  she  looked  up;  her  fingers  tightened  upon 
mine. 

"Monsieur  de  Lesperon,"  she  pleaded,  "of  what  do 
you  speak?   You  are  torturing  me,  monsieur." 

"  Look  in  my  face,  Roxalanne.  Can  you  see  nothing 
there  of  how  I  am  torturing  myself  ? " 

"Then  tell  me,  monsieur,"  she  begged,  her  voice  a 
very  caress  of  suppliant  softness,  —  "tell  me  what 
vexes  you  and  sets  a  curb  upon  your  tongue.  You 
exaggerate,  I  am  assured.  You  could  do  nothing  dis- 
honourable, nothing  vile." 

"  Child,"  I  cried,  "  I  thank  God,  that  you  are  right! 
I  cannot  do  what  is  dishonourable,  and  I  will  not,  for 
all  that  a  month  ago  I  pledged  myself  to  do  it!" 

A  sudden  horror,  a  doubt,  a  suspicion  flashed  into 
her  glance. 

"You  —  you  do  not  mean  that  you  are  a  spy?"  she 
asked;  and  from  my  heart  a  prayer  of  thanks  went  up 
to  Heaven  that  this  at  least  it  was  mine  frankly  to 
deny. 

"No,  no  —  not  that.  I  am  no  spy." 

Her  face  cleared  again,  and  she  sighed. 

"It  is,  I  think,  the  only  thing  I  could  not  forgive. 
Since  it  is  not  that,  will  you  not  tell  me  what  it  is?" 

For  a  moment  the  temptation  to  confess,  to  tell  her 
everything,  was  again  upon  me.  But  the  futility  of  it 
appalled  me. 

"Don't  ask  me,"  I  besought  her;  "you  will  learn  it 
soon  enough."  For  I  was  confident  that  once  my 
wager  was  paid,  the  news  of  it  and  of  the  ruin  of 
Bardelys  would  spread  across  the  face  of  France  like 
a  ripple  over  water.  Presently  — 

"Forgive  me  for  having  come  into  your  life,  Roxa- 


82  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

lanne!"  I  implored  her,  and  then  I  sighed  again. 
"Helas!  Had  I  but  known  you  earlier!  I  did  not 
dream  such  women  lived  in  this  worn-out  France." 

"  I  will  not  pry,  monsieur,  since  your  resolve  appears 
to  be  so  firm.  But  if  —  if  after  I  have  heard  this  thing 
you  speak  of,"  she  said  presently,  speaking  with 
averted  eyes,  "and  if,  having  heard  it,  I  judge  you 
more  mercifully  than  you  judge  yourself,  and  I  send 
for  you,  will  you  —  will  you  come  back  to  Lavedan?" 

My  heart  gave  a  great  bound  —  a  great,  a  sudden 
throb  of  hope.  But  as  sudden  and  as  great  was  the  re- 
bound into  despair. 

"You  will  not  send  for  me,  be  assured  of  that,"  I 
said  with  finality;  and  we  spoke  no  more, 

I  took  the  oars  and  plied  them  vigorously.  I  was  in 
haste  to  end  the  situation.  To-morrow  I  must  think  of 
my  departure,  and,  as  I  rowed,  I  pondered  the  words 
that  had  passed  between  us.  Not  one  word  of  love  had 
there  been,  and  yet,  in  the  very  omission  of  it,  avowal 
had  lain  on  either  side.  A  strange  wooing  had  been 
mine  —  a  wooing  that  precluded  the  possibility  of 
winning,  and  yet  a  wooing  that  had  won.  Aye,  it  had 
won;  but  it  might  not  take.  I  made  fine  distinctions 
and  quaint  paradoxes  as  I  tugged  at  my  oars,  for  the 
human  mind  is  a  curiously  complex  thing,  and  with 
some  of  us  there  is  no  such  spur  to  humour  as  the  sting 
of  pain. 

Roxalanne  sat  white  and  very  thoughtful,  but  with 
veiled  eyes,  so  that  I  might  guess  nothing  of  what 
passed  within  her  mind. 

At  last  we  reached  the  chateau,  and  as  I  brought 
the  boat  to  the  terrace  steps,  it  was  Saint-Eustache 
who  came  forward  to  offer  his  wrist  to  Mademoiselle. 


THE  HOSTILITY  OF  SAINT-EUSTACHE     83 

He  noted  the  pallor  of  her  face,  and  darted  me  a  quick, 
suspicion-laden  glance.  As  we  were  walking  towards 
the  chateau  — 

"Monsieur  de  Lesperon,"  said  he  in  a  curious  tone, 
"do  you  know  that  a  rumour  of  your  death  is  current 
in  the  province?" 

"  I  had  hoped  that  such  a  rumour  might  get  abroad 
when  I  disappeared,"  I  answered  calmly. 

"And  you  have  taken  no  single  step  to  contradict 
it?" 

"Why  should  I,  since  in  that  rumour  may  be  said  to 
lie  my  safety?" 

"Nevertheless,  monsieur,  voyons.  Surely  you 
might  at  least  relieve  the  anxieties  —  the  affliction,  I 
might  almost  say  —  of  those  who  are  mourning  you." 

"Ah!"  said  I.   "And  who  may  these  be?" 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  pursed  his  lips  in  a 
curiously  deprecatory  smile.  With  a  sidelong  glance 
at  Mademoiselle  — 

"  Do  you  need  that  I  name  Mademoiselle  de  Mar- 
sac?"  he  sneered. 

I  stood  still,  my  wits  busily  working,  my  face  im- 
passive under  his  scrutinizing  glance.  In  a  flash  it 
came  to  me  that  this  must  be  the  writer  of  some  of  the 
letters  Lesperon  had  given  me,  the  original  of  the 
miniature  I  carried. 

As  I  was  silent,  I  grew  suddenly  conscious  of  an- 
other pair  of  eyes  observing  me  —  Mademoiselle's. 
She  remembered  what  I  had  said,  she  may  have  re- 
membered how  I  had  cried  out  the  wish  that  I  had 
met  her  earlier,  and  she  may  not  have  been  slow  to  find 
an  interpretation  for  my  words.  I  could  have  groaned 
in  my  rage  at  such  a  misinterpretation.  I  could  have 


84  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

taken  the  Chevalier  round  to  the  other  side  of  the 
chateau  and  killed  him  with  the  greatest  relish  in  the 
world.  But  I  restrained  myself,  I  resigned  myself  to 
be  misunderstood.    What  choice  had  I  ? 

"Monsieur  de  Saint-Eustache,"  said  I  very  coldly, 
and  looking  him  straight  between  his  close-set  eyes, 
"I  have  permitted  you  many  liberties,  but  there  is 
one  that  I  cannot  permit  any  one  —  and,  much  as  I 
honour  you,  I  can  make  no  exception  in  your  favour. 
That  is  to  interfere  in  my  concerns  and  presume  to 
dictate  to  me  the  manner  in  which  I  shall  conduct 
them.  Be  good  enough  to  bear  that  in  your  memory." 

In  a  moment  he  was  all  servility.  The  sneer  passed 
out  of  his  face,  the  arrogance  out  of  his  demeanour. 
He  became  as  full  of  smiles  and  capers  as  the  meanest 
sycophant. 

"You  will  forgive  me,  monsieur!"  he  cried,  spread- 
ing his  hands,  and  with  the  humblest  smile  in  the 
world.  "  I  perceive  that  I  have  taken  a  great  liberty; 
yet  you  have  misunderstood  its  purport.  I  sought  to 
sound  you  touching  the  wisdom  of  a  step  upon  which 
I  have  ventured." 

"That  is,  monsieur?"  I  asked,  throwing  back  my 
head,  with  the  scent  of  danger  breast  high. 

"I  took  it  upon  myself  to-day  to  mention  the  fact 
that  you  are  alive  and  well  to  one  who  had  a  right,  I 
thought,  to  know  of  it,  and  who  is  coming  hither  to- 
morrow." 

"That  was  a  presumption  you  may  regret,"  said  I 
between  my  teeth.  "To  whom  do  you  impart  this  in- 
formation?" 

"To  your  friend.  Monsieur  de  Marsac,"  he  an- 
swered, and  through  his  mask  of  humility  the  sneer 


THE  HOSTILITY  OF  SAINT-EUSTACHE     85 

was  again  growing  apparent.  "He  will  be  here  to- 
morrow," he  repeated. 

Marsac  was  that  friend  of  Lesperon's  to  whose 
warm  commendation  of  the  Gascon  rebel  I  owed  the 
courtesy  and  kindness  that  the  Vicomte  de  Lavedan 
had  meted  out  to  me  since  my  coming. 

Is  it  wonderful  that  I  stood  as  if  frozen,  my  wits  re- 
fusing to  work  and  my  countenance  wearing,  I  doubt 
not,  a  very  stricken  look?  Here  was  one  coming  to 
Lavedan  who  knew  Lesperon  —  one  who  would  un- 
mask me  and  say  that  I  was  an  impostor.  What 
would  happen  then  ?  A  spy  they  would  of  a  certainty 
account  me,  and  that  they  would  make  short  work  of 
me  I  never  doubted.  But  that  was  something  that 
troubled  me  less  than  the  opinion  Mademoiselle  must 
form.  How  would  she  interpret  what  I  had  said  that 
day?  In  what  light  would  she  view  me  hereafter? 

Such  questions  sped  like  swift  arrows  through  my 
mind,  and  in  their  train  came  a  dull  anger  with  myself 
that  I  had  not  told  her  everything  that  afternoon.  It 
was  too  late  now.  The  confession  would  come  no 
longer  of  my  own  free  will,  as  it  might  have  done  an 
hour  ago,  but  would  be  forced  from  me  by  the  cir- 
cumstances that  impended.  Thus  it  would  no  longer 
have  any  virtue  to  recommend  it  to  her  mercy. 

"The  news  seems  hardly  welcome.  Monsieur  de 
Lesperon,"  said  Roxalanne  in  a  voice  that  was  in- 
scrutable. Her  tone  stirred  me,  for  it  betokened 
suspicion  already.  Something  might  yet  chance  to  aid 
me,  and  in  the  mean  while  I  might  spoil  all  did  I  yield 
to  this  dread  of  the  morrow.  By  an  effort  I  mastered 
myself,  and  in  tones  calm  and  level,  that  betrayed 
nothing  of  the  tempest  in  my  soul  — 


86  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

"It  is  not  welcome,  mademoiselle,"  I  answered.  "I 
have  excellent  reasons  for  not  desiring  to  meet  Mon- 
sieur de  Marsac." 

"Excellent,  indeed,  are  they!"  lisped  Saint- 
Eustache,  with  an  ugly  droop  at  the  corners  of  his 
mouth.  "I  doubt  not  you'll  find  it  hard  to  offer  a 
plausible  reason  for  having  left  him  and  his  sister  with- 
out news  that  you  were  alive." 

"Monsieur,"  said  I  at  random,  "why  will  you  drag 
in  his  sister's  name?" 

"Why?"  he  echoed,  and  he  eyed  me  with  undis- 
guised amusement.  He  was  standing  erect,  his  head 
thrown  back,  his  right  arm  outstretched  from  the 
shoulder,  and  his  hand  resting  lightly  upon  the  gold 
mount  of  his  beribboned  cane.  He  let  his  eyes  wander 
from  me  to  Roxalanne,  then  back  again  to  me.  At 
last:  "Is  it  wonderful  that  I  should  drag  in  the 
name  of  your  betrothed?"  said  he.  "But  perhaps 
you  will  deny  that  Mademoiselle  de  Marsac  is  that  to 
you? "  he  suggested. 

And  I,  forgetting  for  the  moment  the  part  I  played 
and  the  man  whose  identity  I  had  put  on,  made 
answer  hotly:  "I  do  deny  it." 

"Why,  then,  you  lie,"  said  he,  and  shrugged  his 
shoulders  with  insolent  contempt. 

In  all  my  life  I  do  not  think  it  could  be  said  of  me 
that  I  had  ever  given  way  to  rage.  Rude,  untutored 
minds  may  fall  a  prey  to  passion,  but  a  gentleman,  I 
hold,  is  never  angry.  Nor  was  I  then,  so  far  as  the  out- 
ward signs  of  anger  count.  I  doffed  my  hat  with  a 
sweep  to  Roxalanne,  who  stood  by  with  fear  and 
wonder  blending  in  her  glance. 

"Mademoiselle,  you  will  forgive  that  I  find  it 


THE  HOSTILITY  OF  SAINT-EUSTACHE     87 

necessary  to  birch  this  babbling  schoolboy  in  your 
presence." 

Then,  with  the  pleasantest  manner  in  the  world,  I 
stepped  aside,  and  plucked  the  cane  from  the  Cheva- 
lier's hand  before  he  had  so  much  as  guessed  what  I 
was  about.  I  bowed  before  him  with  the  utmost 
politeness,  as  if  craving  his  leave  and  tolerance  for 
what  I  was  about  to  do,  and  then,  before  he  had  re- 
covered from  his  astonishment,  I  had  laid  that  cane 
three  times  in  quick  succession  across  his  shoulders. 
With  a  cry  at  once  of  pain  and  of  mortification,  he 
sprang  back,  and  his  hand  dropped  to  his  hilt. 

"Monsieur,"  Roxalanne  cried  to  him,  "do  you  not 
see  that  he  is  unarmed?" 

But  he  saw  nothing,  or,  if  he  saw,  thanked  Heaven 
that  things  were  in  such  case,  and  got  his  sword  out. 
Thereupon  Roxalanne  would  have  stepped  between 
us,  but  with  arm  outstretched  I  restrained  her. 

"Have  no  fear,  mademoiselle,"  said  I  very  quietly; 
for  if  the  wrist  that  had  overcome  La  Vertoile  were 
not,  with  a  stick,  a  match  for  a  couple  of  such  swords 
as  this  coxcomb's,  then  was  I  forever  shamed. 

He  bore  down  upon  me  furiously,  his  point  coming 
straight  for  my  throat.  I  took  the  blade  on  the  cane; 
then,  as  he  disengaged  and  came  at  me  lower,  I  made 

counter-parry,  and  pursuing  the  circle  after  I  had 
caught  his  steel,  I  carried  it  out  of  his  hand.  It 
whirled  an  instant,  a  shimmering  wheel  of  light,  then 
it  clattered  against  the  marble  balustrade  half  a  dozen 
yards  away.  With  his  sword  it  seemed  that  his 
courage,  too,  departed,  and  he  stood  at  my  mercy,  a 
curious  picture  of  foolishness,  surprise,  and  fear. 

Now  the  Chevalier  de  Saint-Eustache  was  a  young 


«8  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

man,  and  in  the  young  we  can  forgive  much.  But  to 
forgive  such  an  act  as  he  had  been  guilty  of —  that 
of  drawing  his  sword  upon  a  man  who  carried  no 
weapvons  —  would  have  been  not  only  a  ridiculous 
toleration,  but  an  utter  neglect  of  duty.  As  an  older 
man  it  behoved  me  to  read  the  Chevalier  a  lesson 
in  manners  and  gentlemanly  feeling.  So,  quite  dis- 
passionately, and  purely  for  his  own  future  good,  I 
went  about  the  task,  and  administered  him  a  thrash- 
ing that  for  thoroughness  it  would  be  hard  to  better. 
I  was  not  discriminating.  I  brought  my  cane  down 
with  a  rhythmical  precision,  and  whether  it  took  him 
on  the  head,  the  back,  or  the  shoulders,  I  held  to  be 
more  his  affair  than  mine.  I  had  a  moral  to  inculcate, 
and  the  injuries  he  might  receive  in  the  course  of  it 
were  inconsiderable  details  so  that  the  lesson  was 
borne  in  upon  his  soul.  Two  or  three  times  he  sought 
to  close  with  me,  but  I  eluded  him;  I  had  no  mind  to 
descend  to  a  vulgar  exchange  of  blows.  My  object 
was  not  to  brawl,  but  to  administer  chastisement,  and 
this  object  I  may  claim  to  have  accomplished  with  a 
fair  degree  of  success. 

At  last  Roxalanne  interfered;  but  only  when  one 
blow  a  little  more  violent,  perhaps,  than  its  precursors 
resulted  in  the  sudden  snapping  of  the  cane  and  Mon- 
sieur de  Eustache's  utter  collapse  into  a  moaning  heap. 

"I  deplore,  mademoiselle,  to  have  offended  your 
sight  with  such  a  spectacle,  but  unless  these  lessons 
are  administered  upon  the  instant  their  effect  is  not 
half  so  salutary." 

"He  deserved  it,  monsieur,"  said  she,  with  a  note 
almost  of  fierceness  in  her  voice.  And  of  such  poor 
mettle  are  we  that  her  resentment  against  that  groan- 


THE  HOSTILITY  OF  SAINT-EUSTACHE      89 

ing  mass  of  fopperies  and  wheals  sent  a  thrill  of 
pleasure  through  me.  I  walked  over  to  the  spot  where 
his  sword  had  fallen,  and  picked  it  up. 

"Monsieur  de  Saint-Eustache,"  said  I,  "you  have 
so  dishonoured  this  blade  that  I  do  not  think  you 
would  care  to  wear  it  again."  Saying  which,  I  snapped 
it  across  my  knee,  and  flung  it  far  out  into  the  river, 
for  all  that  the  hilt  was  a  costly  one,  richly  wrought  in 
bronze  and  gold. 

He  raised  his  livid  countenance,  and  his  eyes  blazed 
impotent  fury. 

"Par  la  mort  Dieu!"  he  cried  hoarsely,  "you  shall 
give  me  satisfaction  for  this!" 

"If  you  account  yourself  still  unsatisfied,  I  am  at 
your  service  when  you  will,"  said  I  courteously. 

Then,  before  more  could  be  said,  I  saw  Monsieur  de 
Lavedan  and  the  Vicomtesse  approaching  hurriedly 
across  the  parterre.  The  Vicomte's  brow  was  black 
with  what  might  have  appeared  anger,  but  which  I 
rightly  construed  into  apprehension. 

"  What  has  taken  place  ?  What  have  you  done  ? "  he 
asked  of  me. 

"He  has  brutally  assaulted  the  Chevalier,"  cried 
Madame  shrilly,  her  eyes  malevolently  set  upon  me. 
"He  is  only  a  child,  this  poor  Saint-Eustache,"  she 
reproached  me.  "I  saw  it  all  from  my  window.  Mon- 
sieur de  Lesperon,  It  was  brutal;  it  was  cowardly.  So 
to  beat  a  boy !  Shame !  If  you  had  a  quarrel  v/ith  him, 
are  there  not  prescribed  methods  for  their  adjustment 
between  gentlemen?  Pardieu,  could  you  not  have 
given  him  proper  satisfaction?" 

"If  madame  will  give  herself  the  trouble  of  atten- 
tively examining  this  poor  Saint-Eustache,"  said  I, 


90  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

with  a  sarcasm  which  her  virulence  prompted,  "you 
will  agree,  I  think,  that  I  have  given  him  very  proper 
and  very  thorough  satisfaction.  I  would  have  met 
him  sword  in  hand,  but  the  Chevalier  has* the  fault  of 
the  very  young  —  he  is  precipitate;  he  was  in  too 
great  a  haste,  and  he  could  not  wait  until  I  got  a 
sword.  So  I  was  forced  to  do  what  I  could  with  a 
cane." 

"But  you  provoked  him,"  she  flashed  back. 

"Whoever  told  you  so  has  misinformed  you, 
madame.  On  the  contrary,  he  provoked  me.  He  gave 
me  the  lie.  I  struck  him  —  could  I  do  less?  —  and  he 
drew.  I  defended  myself,  and  I  supplemented  my  de- 
fence by  a  caning,  so  that  this  poor  Saint-Eustache 
might  realize  the  unworthiness  of  what  he  had  done. 
That  is  all,  madame." 

But  she  was  not  so  easily  to  be  appeased,  not  even 
when  Mademoiselle  and  the  Vicomte  joined  their  voices 
to  mine  in  extenuation  of  my  conduct.  It  was  like 
Lavedan.  For  all  that  he  was  full  of  dread  of  the 
result  and  of  the  vengeance  Saint-Eustache  might 
wreak  —  boy  though  he  was  —  he  expressed  himself 
freely  touching  the  Chevalier's  behaviour  and  the  fit- 
tingness  of  the  punishment  that  had  overtaken  him. 

The  Vicomtesse  stood  in  small  awe  of  her  husband, 
but  his  judgment  upon  a  point  of  honour  was  a  matter 
that  she  would  not  dare  contest.  She  was  ministering 
to  the  still  prostrate  Chevalier  who,  I  think,  remained 
prostrate  now  that  he  might  continue  to  make  appeal 
to  her  sympathy  —  when  suddenly  she  cut  in  upon 
Roxalanne's  defence  of  me. 

"Where  have  you  been?"  she  demanded  suddenly. 

"When,  my  mother?" 


THE  HOSTILITY  OF  SAINT-EUSTACHE     91 

"This  afternoon,"  answered  the  Vicomtesse  im- 
patiently. "The  Chevalier  was  waiting  two  hours  for 
you. 

Roxalanne  coloured  to  the  roots  of  her  hair.  The 
Vicomte  frowned. 

"Waiting  for  me^  my  mother?   But  why  for  me?" 

"Answer  my  question  —  where  have  you  been?" 

"I  was  with  Monsieur  de  Lesperon,"  she  answered 
simply. 

"Alone?"  the  Vicomtesse  almost  shrieked. 

"But  yes."  The  poor  child's  tones  were  laden  with 
wonder  at  this  catechism. 

"God's  death!"  she  snapped.  "It  seems  that  my 
daughter  is  no  better  than  — " 

Heaven  knows  what  may  have  been  coming,  for  she 
had  the  most  virulent,  scandalous  tongue  that  I  have 
ever  known  in  a  woman's  head  —  which  is  much  for 
one  who  has  lived  at  Court  to  say.  But  the  Vicomte, 
sharing  my  fears,  perhaps,  and  wishing  to  spare  the 
child's  ears,  interposed  quickly  — 

"  Come,  madame,  what  airs  are  these  ?  What  sudden 
assumption  of  graces  that  we  do  not  affect  ?  We  are 
not  in  Paris.  This  is  not  the  Luxembourg.  En  province 
comme  en  province,  and  here  we  are  simple  folk  — " 

"  Simple  folk  ? "  she  interrupted,  gasping.  "  By  God, 
am  I  married  to  a  ploughman?  Am  I  Vicomtesse  of 
Lavedan,  or  the  wife  of  a  boor  of  the  countryside  ?  And 
is  the  honour  of  your  daughter  a  matter  — " 

"The  honour  of  my  daughter  is  not  in  question, 
madame,"  he  interrupted  in  his  turn,  and  with  a 
sudden  sternness  that  spent  the  fire  of  her  indignation 
as  a  spark  that  is  trampled  underfoot.  Then,  in  a 
calm,  level  voice:  "Ah,  here  are  the  servants,"  said  he. 


92  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

"Permit  them,  madame,  to  take  charge  of  Monsieur 
de  Saint-Eustache.  Anatole,  you  had  better  order  the 
carriage  for  Monsieur  le  Chevalier.  I  do  not  think 
that  he  will  be  able  to  ride  home." 

Anatole  peered  at  the  pale  young  gentleman  on  the 
ground,  then  he  turned  his  little  wizened  face  upon 
me,  and  grinned  in  a  singularly  solemn  fashion.  Mon- 
sieur de  Saint-Eustache  was  little  loved,  it  seemed. 

Leaning  heavily  upon  the  arm  of  one  of  the  lacqueys, 
the  Chevalier  moved  painfully  towards  the  courtyard, 
where  the  carriage  was  being  prepared  for  him.  At  the 
last  moment  he  turned  and  beckoned  the  Vicomte  to 
his  side. 

"As  God  lives,  Monsieur  de  Lavedan,"  he  swore, 
breathing  heavily  in  the  fury  that  beset  him,  "you 
shall  bitterly  regret  having  taken  sides  to-day  with 
that  Gascon  bully.  Remember  me,  both  of  you,  when 
you  are  journeying  to  Toulouse." 

The  Vicomte  stood  beside  him,  impassive  and  un- 
moved by  that  grim  threat,  for  all  that  to  him  it  must 
have  sounded  like  a  death-sentence. 

"Adieu,  monsieur  —  a  speedy  recovery,"  was  all  he 
answered. 

But  I  stepped  up  to  them.  "Do  you  not  think, 
Vicomte,  that  it  were  better  to  detain  him?"  I  asked. 

"Pshaw!"  he  ejaculated.   "Let  him  go." 

The  Chevalier's  eyes  met  mine  in  a  look  of  terror. 
Perhaps  already  that  young  man  repented  him  of  his 
menace,  and  he  realized  the  folly  of  threatening  one  in 
whose  power  he  still  chanced  to  be. 

"Bethink  you,  monsieur,"  I  cried.  "Yours  is  a 
noble  and  useful  life.  Mine  is  not  without  value, 
cither.    Shall  we  suffer  these  lives  —  aye,  and  the 


THE  HOSTILITY  OF  SAINT-EUSTACHE      93 

happiness  of  your  wife  and  daughter  —  to  be  de- 
stroyed by  this  vermin?" 

"Let  him  go,  monsieur;  let  him  go.  I  am  not 
afraid." 

I  bowed  and  stepped  back,  motioning  to  the  lacquey 
to  take  the  fellow  away,  much  as  I  should  have 
motioned  him  to  remove  some  uncleanness  from  be- 
fore me. 

The  Vicomtesse  withdrew  in  high  dudgeon  to  her 
chamber,  and  I  did  not  see  her  again  that  evening. 
Mademoiselle  I  saw  once,  for  a  moment,  and  she 
employed  that  moment  to  question  me  touching  the 
origin  of  my  quarrel  with  Saint-Eustache. 

"Did  he  really  lie.  Monsieur  de  Lesperon?"  she 
asked. 

"Upon  my  honour,  mademoiselle,"  I  answered 
solemnly,  "I  have  plighted  my  troth  to  no  living 
woman."  Then  my  chin  sank  to  my  breast  as  I  be- 
thought me  of  how  to-morrow  she  must  opine  me  the 
vilest  liar  living  —  for  I  was  resolved  to  be  gone  before 
Marsac  arrived  —  since  the  real  Lespcron  I  did  not 
doubt  was,  indeed,  betrothed  to  Mademoiselle  de 
Marsac. 

"  I  shall  leave  Lavedan  betimes  to-morrow,  made- 
moiselle," I  pursued  presently.  "What  has  happened 
to-day  makes  my  departure  all  the  more  urgent. 
Delay  may  have  its  dangers.  You  will  hear  strange 
things  of  me,  as  already  I  have  warned  you.  But  be 
merciful.  Much  will  be  true,  much  false;  yet  the 
truth  itself  is  very  vile,  and — "  I  stopped  short,  in 
despair  of  explaining  or  even  tempering  what  had  to 
come.  I  shrugged  my  shoulders  in  my  abandonment 
of  hope,  and  I  turned  towards  the  window.  She 
crossed  the  room  and  came  to  stand  beside  me. 


94  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

"Will  you  not  tell  me?  Have  you  no  faith  in  me? 
Ah,  Monsieur  de  Lesperon  — " 

"  'Sh !  child,  I  cannot.  1 1  is  too  late  to  tell  you  now." 

"Oh,  not  too  late!  From  what  you  say  they  will 
tell  me,  I  should  think,  perhaps,  worse  of  you  than 
you  deserve.  What  is  this  thing  you  hide?  What  is 
this  mystery?  Tell  me,  monsieur.  Tell  me." 

Did  ever  woman  more  plainly  tell  a  man  she  loved 
him,  and  that  loving  him  she  would  find  all  excuses 
for  him?  Was  ever  woman  in  better  case  to  hear  a 
confession  from  the  man  that  loved  her,  and  of  whose 
love  she  was  assured  by  every  instinct  that  her  sex 
possesses  in  such  matters?  Those  two  questions  leapt 
into  my  mind,  and  in  resolving  them  I  all  but  deter- 
mined to  speak  even  now  in  the  eleventh  hour. 

And  then  —  I  know  not  how  —  a  fresh  barrier 
seemed  to  arise.  It  was  not  merely  a  matter  of  telling 
her  of  the  wager  I  was  embarked  upon;  not  merely  a 
matter  of  telling  her  of  the  duplicity  that  I  had 
practised,  of  the  impostures  by  which  I  had  gained 
admittance  to  her  father's  confidence  and  trust;  not 
merely  a  matter  of  confessing  that  I  was  not  Lesperon. 
There  would  still  be  the  necessity  of  saying  who  I  was. 
Even  if  she  forgave  all  else,  could  she  forgive  me  for  be- 
ing Bardelys  —  the  notorious  Bardelys,  the  libertine, 
the  rake,  some  of  whose  exploits  she  had  heard  of 
from  her  mother,  painted  a  hundred  times  blacker 
than  they  really  were?  Might  she  not  shrink  from  me 
when  I  told  her  I  was  that  man  ?  In  her  pure  innocence 
she  deemed,  no  doubt,  that  the  life  of  every  man  who 
accounted  himself  a  gentleman  was  moderately  clean. 
She  would  not  see  in  me  —  as  did  her  mother  —  no 
more  than  a  type  of  the  best  class  in  France,  and  ha'/' 


THE  HOSTILITY  OF  SAINT-EUSTACHE      95 

ing  no  more  than  the  vices  of  my  order.  As  a  mon- 
ster of  profligacy  might  she  behold  me,  and  that  — 
ah,  Dieu !  —  I  could  not  endure  that  she  should  do 
whilst  I  was  by. 

It  may  be  —  indeed,  now,  as  I  look  back,  I  know  — 
that  I  exaggerated  my  case.  I  imagined  she  would  see 
it  as  I  saw  it  then.  For  —  would  you  credit  it?  — 
with  this  great  love  that  was  now  come  to  me,  it 
seemed  the  ideals  of  my  boyhood  were  returned,  and  I 
abhorred  the  man  that  I  had  been.  The  life  I  had  led 
now  filled  me  with  disgust  and  loathing;  the  notions 
I  had  formed  seemed  to  me  now  all  vicious  and  dis- 
torted, my  cynicism  shallow  and  unjust. 

"Monsieur  de  Lesperon,"  she  called  softly  to  me, 
noting  my  silence. 

I  turned  to  her.  I  set  my  hand  lightly  upon  her  arm; 
I  let  my  gaze  encounter  the  upward  glance  of  her  eyes 
—  blue  as  forget-me-nots. 

"You  suffer!"  she  murmured,  with  sweet  com- 
passion. 

"Worse,  Roxalanne!  I  have  sown  in  your  heart  too 
the  seed  of  suffering.  Oh,  I  am  too  unworthy!"  I 
cried  out;  "and  when  you  come  to  discover  how  un- 
worthy it  will  hurt  you;  it  will  sting  your  pride  to 
think  how  kind  you  were  to  me."  She  smiled  in- 
credulously, in  denial  of  my  words.  "No,  child;  I  can- 
not tell  you." 

She  sighed,  and  then  before  more  could  be  said 
there  was  a  sound  at  the  door,  and  we  started  away 
from  each  other.  The  Vicomte  entered,  and  my  last 
chance  of  confessing,  of  perhaps  averting  much  of 
what  followed,  was  lost  to  me. 


CHAPTER  VIII 
THE  PORTRAIT 

INTO  the  mind  of  every  thoughtful  man  must  come 
at  times  with  bitterness  the  reflection  of  how  utterly 
we  are  at  the  mercy  of  Fate,  the  victims  of  her  every 
whim  and  caprice.  We  may  set  out  with  the  loftiest, 
the  sternest  resolutions  to  steer  our  lives  along  a  well- 
considered  course,  yet  the  slightest  of  fortuitous  cir- 
cumstances will  suffice  to  force  us  into  a  direction 
that  we  had  no  thought  of  taking. 

Now,  had  it  pleased  Monsieur  de  Marsac  to  have 
come  to  Lavedan  at  any  reasonable  hour  of  the  day,  I 
should  have  been  already  upon  the  road  to  Paris,  in- 
tent to  own  defeat  and  pay  my  wager.  A  night  of 
thought,  besides  strengthening  my  determination  to 
follow  such  a  course,  had  brought  the  reflection  that  I 
might  thereafter  return  to  Roxalanne,  a  poor  man,  it 
is  true,  but  one  at  least  whose  intentions  might  not  be 
misconstrued. 

And  so,  when  at  last  I  sank  into  sleep,  my  mind  was 
happier  than  it  had  been  for  many  days.  Of  Roxa- 
lanne's  love  I  was  assured,  and  it  seemed  that  I  might 
win  her,  after  all,  once  I  removed  the  barrier  of  shame 
that  now  deterred  me.  It  may  be  that  those  thoughts 
kept  me  awake  until  a  late  hour,  and  that  to  this  I 
owe  it  that  when  on  the  morrow  I  awakened  the 
morning  was  well  advanced.  The  sun  was  flooding  my 
chamber,  and  at  my  bedside  stood  Anatole. 

"What's  o'clock?"  I  inquired,  sitting  bolt  upright. 


THE  PORTRAIT  97 

"Past  ten,"  said  he,  with  stern  disapproval. 

"And  you  have  let  me  sleep?"  I  cried. 

"We  do  little  else  at  Lavedan  even  when  we  are 
awake,"  he  grumbled.  "There  was  no  reason  why- 
monsieur  should  rise."  Then,  holding  out  a  paper, 
"Monsieur  Stanislas  de  Marsac  was  here  betimes  this 
morning  with  Mademoiselle  his  sister.  He  left  this 
letter  for  you,  monsieur." 

Amaze  and  apprehension  were  quickly  followed  by 
relief,  since  Anatole's  words  suggested  that  Marsac 
had  not  remained.  I  took  the  letter,  nevertheless, 
with  some  misgivings,  and  whilst  I  turned  it  over  in 
my  hands  I  questioned  the  old  servant. 

"He  stayed  an  hour  at  the  chateau,  monsieur," 
Anatole  informed  me.  "Monsieur  le  Vicomte  would 
have  had  you  roused,  but  he  would  not  hear  of  it.  'If 
what  Monsieur  de  Saint-Eustache  has  told  me  touch- 
ing your  guest  should  prove  to  be  true,'  said  he,  'I 
would  prefer  not  to  meet  him  under  your  roof,  mon- 
sieur.' 'Monsieur  de  Saint-Eustache,'  my  master 
replied,  'is  not  a  person  whose  word  should  have 
weight  with  any  man  of  honour.'  But  in  spite  of  that, 
Monsieur  de  Marsac  held  to  his  resolve,  and  although 
he  would  offer  no  explanation  in  answer  to  my  master's 
many  questions,  you  were  not  aroused. 

"At  the  end  of  a  half-hour  his  sister  entered  with 
Mademoiselle.  They  had  been  walking  together  on 
the  terrace,  and  Mademoiselle  de  Marsac  appeared 
very  angry.  'Affairs  are  exactly  as  Monsieur  de  Saint- 
Eustache  has  represented  them,'  said  she  to  her 
brother.  At  that  he  swore  a  most  villainous  oath,  and 
called  for  writing  materials.  At  the  moment  of  his  de- 
parture he  desired  me  to  deliver  this  letter  to  you,  and 


98  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

then  rode  away  in  a  fury,  and,  seemingly,  not  on  the 
best  of  terms  with  Monsieur  le  Vicomte." 

"And  his  sister?"  I  asked  quickly. 

"She  went  with  him.  A  fine  pair,  as  I  live!"  he 
added,  casting  his  eyes  to  the  ceiling. 

At  least  I  could  breathe  freely.  They  were  gone, 
and  whatever  damage  they  may  have  done  to  the 
character  of  poor  Rene  de  Lesperon  ere  they  departed, 
they  were  not  there,  at  all  events,  to  denounce  me  for 
an  impostor.  With  a  mental  apology  to  the  shade  of 
the  departed  Lesperon  for  all  the  discredit  I  was  bring- 
ing down  upon  his  name,  I  broke  the  seal  of  that 
momentous  epistle,  which  enclosed  a  length  of  some 
thirty-two  inches  of  string. 

Monsieur  [I  read],  wherever  I  may  chance  to  meet  you  it 
shall  be  my  duty  to  kill  you. 

A  rich  beginning,  in  all  faith!  If  he  could  but  main- 
tain that  uncompromising  dramatic  flavour  to  the 
end,  his  epistle  should  be  worth  the  trouble  of  de- 
ciphering, for  he  penned  a  vile  scrawl  of  pothooks. 

It  is  because  of  this  [the  letter  proceeded]  that  I  have  re- 
frained from  coming  face  to  face  with  you  this  morning. 
The  times  are  too  troublous  and  the  province  is  in  too 
dangerous  a  condition  to  admit  of  an  act  that  might  draw 
the  eyes  of  the- Keeper  of  the  Seals  upon  Lavedan.  To  my 
respect,  then,  to  Monsieur  le  Vicomte  and  to  my  own  de- 
votion to  the  Cause  we  mutually  serve  do  you  owe  it  that 
you  still  live.  I  am  on  my  way  to  Spain  to  seek  shelter  there 
from  the  King's  vengeance. 

To  save  myself  is  a  duty  that  I  owe  as  much  to  myself  as 
to  the  Cause.  But  there  is  another  duty,  one  that  I  owe  my 
sister,  whom  you  have  so  outrageously  slighted,  and  this 
duty,  by  God's  grace,  I  will  perform  before  I  leave.  Of  your 


THE  PORTRAIT  99 

honour,  monsieur,  we  will  not  speak,  for  reasons  into  which 
I  need  not  enter,  and  I  make  no  appeal  to  it.  But  if  you 
have  a  spark  of  manhood  left,  if  you  are  not  an  utter  craven 
as  well  as  a  knave,  I  shall  expect  you  on  the  day  after  to- 
morrow, at  any  hour  before  noon,  at  the  Auberge  de  la 
Couronne  at  Grenade.  There,  monsieur,  if  you  please,  we 
will  adjust  our  differences.  That  you  may  come  prepared, 
and  so  that  no  time  need  be  wasted  when  we  meet,  I  send 
you  the  length  of  my  sword. 

Thus  ended  that  angry,  fire-breathing  epistle.  I  re- 
folded it  thoughtfully,  then,  having  taken  my  resolve, 
I  leapt  from  the  bed  and  desired  Anatole  to  assist  me 
to  dress. 

I  found  the  Vicomte  much  exercised  in  mind  as  to 
the  meaning  of  Marsac's  extraordinary  behaviour,  and 
I  was*relieved  to  see  that  he,  at  least,  could  conjecture 
no  cause  for  it.  In  reply  to  the  questions  with  which 
he  very  naturally  assailed  me,  I  assured  him  that  it 
was  no  more  than  a  matter  of  a  misunderstanding; 
that  Monsieur  de  Marsac  had  asked  me  to  meet  him 
at  Grenade  in  two  days'  time,  and  that  I  should  then, 
no  doubt,  be  able  to  make  all  clear. 

Meanwhile,  I  regretted  the  incident,  since  it 'ne- 
cessitated my  remaining  and  encroaching  for  two 
days  longer  upon  the  Vicomte's  hospitality.  To  all 
this,  however,  he  made  the  reply  that  I  expected,  con- 
cluding with  the  remark  that  for  the  present  at  least 
it  would  seem  as  if  the  Chevalier  de  Saint-Eustache 
had  been  satisfied  with  creating  this  trouble  betwixt 
myself  and  Marsac. 

From  what  Anatole  had  said,  I  had  already  con- 
cluded that  Marsac  had  exercised  the  greatest  reti- 
cence.   But  the  interview  between  his  sister  and 


loo  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

Roxalanne  filled  me  with  the  gravest  anxiety.  Women 
are  not  wont  to  practise  the  restraint  of  men  under 
such  circumstances,  and  for  all  that  Mademoiselle  de 
Marsac  may  not  have  expressed  it  in  so  many  words 
that  I  was  her  faithless  lover,  yet  women  are  quick  to 
detect  and  interpret  the  signs  of  disorders  springing 
from  such  causes,  and  I  had  every  fear  that  Roxalanne 
was  come  to  the  conclusion  that  I  had  lied  to  her 
yesternight.  With  an  uneasy  spirit,  then,  I  went  in 
quest  of  her,  and  I  found  her  walking  in  the  old  rose 
garden  behind  the  chateau. 

She  did  not  at  first  remark  my  approach,  and  I  had 
leisure  for  some  moments  to  observe  her  and  to  note 
the  sadness  that  dwelt  in  her  profile  and  the  listless- 
ness  of  her  movements.  This,  then,  was  my  work  — 
mine,  and  that  of  Monsieur  de  Chatellerault,  and 
those  other  merry  gentlemen  who  had  sat  at  my  table 
in  Paris  nigh  upon  a  month  ago. 

I  moved,  and  the  gravel  crunched  under  my  foot, 
whereupon  she  turned,  and,  at  sight  of  me  advancing 
towards  her,  she  started.  The  blood  mounted  to  her 
face,  to  ebb  again  upon  the  instant,  leaving  it  paler 
than  it  had  been.  She  made  as  if  to  depart;  then  she 
appeared  to  check  herself,  and  stood  immovable  and 
outwardly  calm,  awaiting  my  approach. 

But  her  eyes  were  averted,  and  her  bosom  rose  and 
fell  too  swiftly  to  lend  colour  to  that  mask  of  in- 
difference she  hurriedly  put  on.  Yet,  as  I  drew  nigh, 
she  was  the  first  to  speak,  and  the  triviality  of  her 
words  came  as  a  shock  to  me,  and  —  for  all  my  knowl- 
edge of  woman's  way  —  caused  me  to  doubt  for  a 
moment  whether  perhaps  her  calm  were  not  real,  after 
all. 


THE  PORTRAIT  loi 

"You  are  a  laggard  this  morning,  Monsieur  de 
Lesperon."  And,  with  a  half  laugh,  she  turned  aside 
to  break  a  rose  from  its  stem. 

"True,"  I  answered  stupidly;  "I  slept  over-late." 

"A  thousand  pities,  since  thus  you  missed  seeing 
Mademoiselle  de  Marsac.  Have  they  told  you  that 
she  was  here?" 

"Yes,  mademoiselle.  Stanislas  de  Marsac  left  a 
letter  for  me." 

"You  will  regret  not  having  seen  them,  no  doubt?" 
quoth  she. 

I  evaded  the  interrogative  note  in  her  voice.  "That 
is  their  fault.  They  appear  to  have  preferred  to  avoid 
me. 

"Is  it  matter  for  wonder?"  she  flashed,  with  a  sud- 
den gleam  of  fury  which  she  as  suddenly  controlled. 
With  the  old  indifference,  she  added,  "You  do  not 
seem  perturbed,  monsieur?" 

"On  the  contrary,  mademoiselle;  I  am  very  deeply 
perturbed." 

"At  not  having  seen  your  —  betrothed?"  she 
asked,  and  now  for  the  first  time  her  eyes  were  raised, 
and  they  met  mine  with  a  look  that  was  a  stab. 

"Mademoiselle,  I  had  the  honour  of  telling  you 
yesterday  that  I  had  plighted  my  troth  to  no  living 
woman." 

At  that  reminder  of  yesterday  she  winced,  and  I 
was  sorry  that  I  had  uttered  it,  for  it  must  have  set 
the  wound  in  her  pride  a-bleeding  again.  Yesterday  I 
had  as  much  as  told  her  that  I  loved  her,  and  yester- 
day she  had  as  much  as  answered  me  that  she  loved 
me,  for  yesterday  I  had  sworn  that  Saint-Eustache's 
story  of  my  betrothal  was  a  lie.  To-day  she  had  had 


102  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

assurance  of  the  truth  from  the  very  woman  to  whom 
Lesperon's  faith  was  plighted,  and  I  could  imagine 
something  of  her  shame. 

"Yesterday,  monsieur,"  she  answered  contemp- 
tuously, "you  lied  in  many  things." 

"Nay,  I  spoke  the  truth  in  all.  Oh,  God  in  heaven, 
mademoiselle,"  I  exclaimed  in  sudden  passion,  "will 
you  not  believe  me?  Will  you  not  accept  my  word  for 
what  I  say,  and  have  a  little  patience  until  I  shall  have 
discharged  such  obligations  as  will  permit  me  to 
explain?" 

"Explain?"  quoth  she,  with  withering  disdain. 

"There  is  a  hideous  misunderstanding  in  all  this.  I 
am  the  victim  of  a  miserable  chain  of  circumstances. 
Oh,  I  can  say  no  more!  These  Marsacs  I  shall  easily 
pacify.  I  am  to  meet  Monsieur  de  Marsac  at  Grenadt 
on  the  day  after  to-morrow.  In  my  pocket  I  have  a 
letter  from  this  living  sword-blade,  in  which  he  tells 
me  that  he  will  give  himself  the  pleasure  of  killing  me 
then.    Yet—" 

"I  hope  he  does,  monsieur!"  she  cut  in,  with  a 
fierceness  before  which  I  fell  dumb  and  left  my 
sentence  unfinished.  "  I  shall  pray  God  that  he  may ! " 
she  added.  "You  deserve  it  as  no  man  deserved  it 
yet!" 

For  a  moment  I  stood  stricken,  indeed,  by  her 
words.  Then,  my  reason  grasping  the  motive  of  that 
fierceness,  a  sudden  joy  pervaded  me.  It  was  a  fierce- 
ness breathing  that  hatred  that  is  a  part  of  love,  than 
which,  it  is  true,  no  hatred  can  be  more  deadly.  And 
yet  so  eloquently  did  it  tell  me  of  those  very  feelings 
which  she  sought  jealously  to  conceal,  that,  moved  by 
a  sudden  impulse,  I  stepped  close  up  to  her. 


THE  PORTRAIT  103 

"Roxalanne,"  I  said  fervently,  "you  do  not  hope 
for  it.  What  would  your  life  be  if  I  were  dead?  Child, 
child,  you  love  me  even  as  I  love  you."  I  caught  her 
suddenly  to  me  with  infinite  tenderness,  with  rever- 
ence almost.  "  Can  you  lend  no  ear  to  the  voice  of 
this  love?  Can  you  not  have  faith  in  me  a  little? 
Can  you  not  think  that  if  I  were  quite  as  unworthy 
as  you  make-believe  to  your  very  self,  this  love  could 
have  no  place?" 

"It  has  no  place!"  she  cried.  "You  lie —  as  in  all 
things  else.  I  do  not  love  you.  I  hate  you.  Dieu! 
How  I  hate  you!" 

She  had  lain  in  my  arms  until  then,  with  upturned 
face  and  piteous,  frightened  eyes  —  like  a  bird  that 
feels  itself  within  the  toils  of  a  snake,  yet  whose 
horror  is  blent  with  a  certain  fascination.  Now,  as 
she  spoke,  her  will  seemed  to  reassert  itself,  and  she 
struggled  to  break  from  me.  But  as  her  fierceness 
of  hatred  grew,  so  did  my  fierceness  of  resolve  gain 
strength,  and  I  held  her  tightly. 

"Why  do  you  hate  me?"  I  asked  steadily.  "Ask 
yourself,  Roxalanne,  and  tell  me  what  answer  your 
heart  makes.  Does  it  not  answer  that  indeed  you  do 
not  hate  me —  that  you  love  me?" 

"Oh,  God,  to  be  so  insulted!"  she  cried  out.  "Will 
you  not  release  me,  miserable?  Must  I  call  for  help? 
Oh,  you  shall  suffer  for  this!  As  there  is  a  Heaven, 
you  shall  be  punished!" 

But  in  my  passion  I  held  her,  despite  entreaties, 
threats,  and  struggles.  I  was  brutal,  if  you  will.  Yet 
think  of  what  was  in  my  soul  at  being  so  misjudged,  at 
finding  myself  in  this  position,  and  deal  not  over- 
harshly  with  me.  The  courage  to  confess  which  I  had 


I04  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

lacked  for  days,  came  to  me  then.  I  must  tell  her. 
Let  the  result  be  what  it  might,  it  could  not  be  worse 
than  this,  and  this  I  could  endure  no  longer. 

"Listen,  Roxalanne!" 

"I  will  not  listen!  Enough  of  insults  have  I  heard 
already.    Let  me  go!" 

"Nay,  but  you  shall  hear  me.  I  am  not  Rene  de 
Lesperon.  Had  these  Marsacs  been  less  impetuous 
and  foolish,  had  they  waited  to  have  seen  me  this 
morning,  they  would  have  told  you  so." 

She  paused  for  a  second  in  her  struggles  to  regard 
me.  Then,  with  a  sudden  contemptuous  laugh,  she  re- 
newed her  efforts  more  vigorously  than  before. 

"What  fresh  lies  do  you  offer  me?  Release  me;  I 
will  hear  no  more!" 

"As  Heaven  is  my  witness,  I  have  told  you  the 
truth.  I  know  how  wild  a  sound  it  has,  and  that  is 
partly  why  I  did  not  tell  you  earlier.  But  your  disdain 
I  cannot  suffer.  That  you  should  deem  me  a  liar  in 
professing  to  love  you  — " 

Her  struggles  were  grown  so  frantic  that  I  was 
forced  to  relax  my  grip.  But  this  I  did  with  a  sudden- 
ness that  threw  her  out  of  balance,  and  she  was  in 
danger  of  falling  backwards.  To  save  herself,  she 
caught  at  my  doublet,  which  was  torn  open  under  the 
strain. 

We  stood  some  few  feet  apart,  and,  white  and 
palpitating  in  her  anger,  she  confronted  me.  Her  eyes 
lashed  me  with  their  scorn,  but  under  my  steady,  un- 
flinching gaze  they  fell  at  last.  When  next  she  raised 
them  there  was  a  smile  of  quiet  but  unutterable  con- 
tempt upon  her  lips. 

"Will  you  swear,"  said  she,  "that  you  are  not 


THE  PORTRAIT  105 

Rene  de  Lesperon  ?  That  Mademoiselle  de  Marsac  is 
not  your  betrothed?" 

"Yes  —  by  my  every  hope  of  Heaven!"  I  cried 
passionately. 

She  continued  to  survey  me  with  that  quiet  smile  of 
mocking  scorn. 

"I  have  heard  it  said,"  quoth  she,  "that  the  great- 
est liars  are  ever  those  that  are  readiest  to  take  oath." 
Then,  with  a  sudden  gasp  of  loathing,  "I  think  you 
have  dropped  something,  monsieur,"  said  she,  point- 
ing to  the  ground.  And  without  waiting  for  more,  she 
swung  round  and  left  me. 

Face  upwards  at  my  feet  lay  the  miniature  that 
poor  Lesperon  had  entrusted  to  me  in  his  dying 
moments.  It  had  dropped  from  my  doublet  in  the 
struggle,  and  I  never  doubted  now  but  that  the 
picture  it  contained  was  that  of  Mademoiselle  de 
Marsac. 


CHAPTER  IX 
A  NIGHT  ALARM 

I  WAS  returning  that  same  afternoon  from  a  long 
walk  that  I  had  taken  —  for  my  mood  was  of  that 
unenviable  sort  that  impels  a  man  to  be  moving  — 
when  I  found  a  travelling-chaise  drawn  up  in  the  quad- 
rangle as  if  ready  for  a  journey.  As  I  mounted  the 
steps  of  the  chateau  I  came  face  to  face  with  mademoi- 
selle, descending.  I  drew  aside  that  she  might  pass, 
and  this  she  did  with  her  chin  in  the  air,  and  her  petti- 
coat drawn  to  her  that  it  might  not  touch  me. 

I  would  have  spoken  to  her,  but  her  eyes  looked 
straight  before  her  with  a  glance  that  was  too  for- 
bidding; besides  which  there  was  the  gaze  of  a  half- 
dozen  grooms  upon  us.  So,  bowing  before  her  —  the 
plume  of  my  doffed  hat  sweeping  the  ground  —  I  let 
her  go.  Yet  I  remained  standing  where  she  had  passed 
me,  and  watched  her  enter  the  coach.  I  looked  after 
the  vehicle  as  it  wheeled  round  and  rattled  out  over 
the  drawbridge,  to  raise  a  cloud  of  dust  on  the  white, 
dry  road  beyond. 

In  that  hour  I  experienced  a  sense  of  desolation  and 
a  pain  to  which  I  find  it  difficult  to  give  expression. 
It  seemed  to  me  as  if  she  had  gone  out  of  my  life  for  all 
time  —  as  if  no  reparation  that  I  could  ever  make 
would  suffice  to  win  her  back  after  what  had  passed 
between  us  that  morning.  Already  wounded  in  her 
pride  by  what  Mademoiselle  de  Marsac  had  told  her 
of  our  relations,  my  behaviour  in  the  rose  garden  had 


A  NIGHT  ALARM  107 

completed  the  work  of  turning  into  hatred  the  tender 
feelings  that  but  yesterday  she  had  all  but  confessed 
for  me.  That  she  hated  me  now,  I  was  well  assured. 
My  reflections  as  I  walked  had  borne  it  in  upon  me 
how  rash,  how  mad  had  been  my  desperate  action,  and 
with  bitterness  I  realized  that  I  had  destroyed  the  last 
chance  of  ever  mending  matters. 

Not  even  the  payment  of  my  wager  and  my  return 
in  my  true  character  could  avail  me  now.  The  pay- 
ment of  my  wager,  forsooth!  Even  that  lost  what 
virtue  it  might  have  contained.  Where  was  the 
heroism  of  such  an  act?  Had  I  not  failed,  indeed? 
And  was  not,  therefore,  the  payment  of  my  wager  be- 
come inevitable? 

Fool!  fool!  Why  had  I  not  profited  that  gentle 
mood  of  hers  when  we  had  drifted  down  the  stream  to- 
gether? Why  had  I  not  told  her  then  of  the  whole 
business  from  its  ugly  inception  down  to  the  pass  ta 
which  things  were  come,  adding  that  to  repair  the 
evil  I  was  going  back  to  Paris  to  pay  my  wager,  and 
that  when  that  was  done,  I  would  return  to  ask  her  to 
become  my  wife  ?  That  was  the  course  a  man  of  sense 
would  have  adopted.  He  would  have  seen  the  dangers 
that  beset  him  in  my  false  position,  and  would  have 
been  quick  to  have  forestalled  them  in  the  only 
manner  possible. 

Heigh-ho !  It  was  done.  The  game  was  at  an  end,, 
and  I  had  bungled  my  part  of  it  like  any  fool.  One 
task  remained  me  —  that  of  meeting  Marsac  at 
Grenade  and  doing  justice  to  the  memory  of  poor 
Lesperon.  What  might  betide  thereafter  mattered 
little.  I  should  be  ruined  when  I  had  settled  with 
Chatellerault,  and  Marcel  de  Saint-Pol  de  Bardelys^ 


io8  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

that  brilliant  star  in  the  firmament  of  the  Court  of 
France,  would  suffer  an  abrupt  eclipse,  would  be 
quenched  for  all  time.  But  this  weighed  little  with 
me  then.  I  had  lost  everything  that  I  might  have 
valued  —  everything  that  might  have  brought  fresh 
zest  to  a  jaded,  satiated  life. 

Later  that  day  I  was  told  by  the  Vicomte  that  there 
was  a  rumour  current  to  the  effect  that  the  Marquis 
de  Bardelys  was  dead.  Idly  I  inquired  how  the  ru- 
mour had  been  spread,  and  he  told  me  that  a  rider- 
less horse,  which  had  been  captured  a  few  days  ago  by 
some  peasants,  had  been  recognized  by  Monsieur  de 
Bardelys's  servants  as  belonging  to  their  master,  and 
that  as  nothing  had  been  seen  or  heard  of  him  for  a 
fortnight,  it  was  believed  that  he  must  have  met  with 
some  mischance.  Not  even  that  piece  of  information 
served  to  arouse  my  interest.  Let  them  believe  me 
dead  if  they  would.  To  him  that  is  suffering  worse 
than  death  to  be  accounted  dead  is  a  small  matter. 

The  next  day  passed  without  incident.  Mademoi- 
selle's absence  continued  and  I  would  have  questioned 
the  Vicomte  concerning  it,  but  a  not  unnatural 
hesitancy  beset  me,  and  I  refrained. 

On  the  morrow  I  was  to  leave  Lavedan,  but  there 
were  no  preparations  to  be  made,  no  packing  to  be 
done,  for  during  my  sojourn  there  I  had  been  indebted 
to  the  generous  hospitality  of  the  Vicomte  for  my  very 
apparel.  We  supped  quietly  together  that  night  — 
the  Vicomte  and  I  —  for  the  Vicomtesse  was  keeping 
her  room. 

I  withdrew  early  to  my  chamber,  and  long  I  lay 
awake,  revolving  a  gloomy  future  in  my  mind.  I  had 
given  no  thought  to  what  I  should  do  after  having 


A  NIGHT  ALARM  109 

offered  my  explanation  to  Monsieur  de  Marsac  on  the 
morrow,  nor  could  I  now  bring  myself  to  consider  it 
with  any  degree  of  interest.  I  would  communicate 
with  Chatellerault  to  inform  him  that  I  accounted  my 
wager  lost.  I  would  send  him  my  note  of  hand,  mak- 
ing over  to  him  my  Picardy  estates,  and  I  would  re- 
quest him  to  pay  off  and  disband  my  servants  both  in 
Paris  and  at  Bardelys. 

As  for  myself,  I  did  not  know,  and,  as  I  have  hinted, 
I  cared  but  little,  in  what  places  my  future  life  might 
lie.  I  had  still  a  little  property  by  Beaugency,  but 
scant  inclination  to  withdraw  to  it.  To  Paris  I  would 
not  return;  that  much  I  was  determined  upon;  but 
upon  no  more.  I  had  thoughts  of  going  to  Spain.  Yet 
that  course  seemed  no  less  futile  than  any  other  of 
which  I  could  bethink  me.  I  fell  asleep  at  last,  vowing 
that  it  would  be  a  mercy  and  a  fine  solution  to  the 
puzzle  of  how  to  dispose  of  the  future  if  I  were  to 
awaken  no  more. 

I  was,  however,  destined  to  be  roused  again  just  as 
the  veil  of  night  was  being  lifted  and  the  chill  breath 
of  dawn  was  upon  the  world.  There  was  a  loud  knock- 
ing at  the  gates  of  Lavedan,  confused  noises  of  voices, 
of  pattering  feet,  of  doors  opening  and  closing  within 
the  chateau. 

There  was  a  rapping  at  my  chamber  door,  and  when 
I  went  to  open,  I  found  the  Vicomte  on  the  threshold, 
nightcapped,  in  his  shirt,  and  bearing  a  lighted  taper. 

"There  are  troopers  at  the  gate!"  he  exclaimed  as 
he  entered  the  room.  "That  dog  Saint-Eustache  has 
already  been  at  work!" 

For  all  the  agitation  that  must  have  been  besetting 
him,  his  manner  was  serene  as  ever.  "What  are  we  to 
do?"  he  asked. 


no  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

"You  are  admitting  them  —  naturally?"  said  I, 
inquiry  in  my  voice. 

"Why,  yes";  and  he  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "What 
could  it  avail  us  to  resist  them  ?  Even  had  I  been  pre- 
pared for  it,  it  would  be  futile  to  attempt  to  suffer  a 
siege." 

I  wrapped  a  dressing-gown  about  me,  for  the  morn- 
ing air  was  chill. 

"Monsieur  le  Vicomte,"  said  I  gravely,  "I  heartily 
deplore  that  Monsieur  de  Marsac's  affairs  should  have 
detained  me  here.  But  for  him,  I  had  left  Lavedan 
two  days  ago.  As  it  is,  I  tremble  for  you,  but  we  may 
at  least  hope  that  my  being  taken  in  your  house  will 
draw  down  no  ill  results  upon  you.  I  shall  never  for- 
give myself  if  through  my  having  taken  refuge  here  I 
should  have  encompassed  your  destruction." 

"There  is  no  question  of  that,"  he  replied,  with  the 
quick  generosity  characteristic  of  the  man.  "This  is 
the  work  of  Saint-Eustache.  Sooner  or  later  I  always 
feared  that  it  would  happen,  for  sooner  or  later  he 
and  I  must  have  come  to  enmity  over  my  daughter. 
That  knave  had  me  in  his  power.  He  knew  —  being 
himself  outwardly  one  of  us  —  to  what  extent  I  was 
involved  in  the  late  rebellion,  and  I  knew  enough  of 
him  to  be  assured  that  if  some  day  he  should  wish  to 
do  me  ill,  he  would  never  scruple  to  turn  traitor.  I  am 
afraid.  Monsieur  de  Lesperon,  that  it  is  not  for  you 
alone  —  perhaps  not  for  you  at  all  —  that  the  soldiers 
have  come,  but  for  me." 

Then,  before  I  could  answer  him,  the  door  was  flung 
wide,  and  into  the  room,  in  nightcap  and  hastily 
donned  robe  —  looking  a  very  megere  in  that  dis- 
figuring deshabille  —  swept  the  Vicomtesse. 


A  NIGHT  ALARM  iii 

"See,"  she  cried  to  her  husband,  her  strident  voice 
raised  in  reproach  —  "see  to  what  a  pass  you  have 
brought  us!" 

"Anne,  Anne!"  he  exclaimed,  approaching  her  and 
seeking  to  soothe  her;  "  be  calm,  my  poor  child,  and 
be  brave." 

But,  evading  him,  she  towered,  lean  and  malevolent 
as  a  fury. 

"Calm?"  she  echoed  contemptuously.  "Brave?" 
Then  a  short  laugh  broke  from  her  —  a  despairing, 
mocking,  mirthless  expression  of  anger.  "  By  God,  do 
you  add  effrontery  to  your  other  failings?  Dare  you 
bid  me  be  calm  and  brave  in  such  an  hour?  Have  I 
been  warning  you  fruitlessly  these  twelve  months  past, 
that,  after  disregarding  me  and  deriding  my  warnings, 
you  should  bid  me  be  calm  now  that  my  fears  are 
realized?" 

There  was  a  sound  of  creaking  gates  below.  The 
Vicomte  heard  it. 

"Madame,"  he  said,  putting  aside  his  erstwhile 
tender  manner,  and  speaking  with  a  lofty  dignity, 
"the  troopers  have  been  admitted.  Let  me  entreat 
you  to  retire.   It  is  not  befitting  our  station  — " 

"What  is  our  station?"  she  interrupted  harshly. 
"  Rebels  —  proscribed,  houseless  beggars.  That  is  our 
station,  thanks  to  you  and  your  insane  meddling  with 
treason.  What  is  to  become  of  us,  fool?  What  is  to  be- 
come of  Roxalanne  and  me  when  they  shall  have 
hanged  you  and  have  driven  us  from  Lavedan?  By 
God's  death,  a  fine  season  this  to  talk  of  the  dignity  of 
our  station !  Did  I  not  warn  you,  malheureux,  to  leave 
party  faction  alone?  You  laughed  at  me." 

"Madame,  your  memory  does  rne  an  injustice,"  he 


112         BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

answered  in  a  strangled  voice.  "I  never  laughed  at 
you  in  all  my  life." 

"You  did  as  much,  at  least.  Did  you  not  bid  me 
busy  myself  with  women's  affairs?  Did  you  not  bid 
me  leave  you  to  follow  your  own  judgment  ?  You  have 
followed  it  —  to  a  pretty  purpose,  as  God  lives !  These 
gentlemen  of  the  King's  will  cause  you  to  follow  it  a 
little  farther,"  she  pursued,  with  heartless,  loathsome 
sarcasm.  "You  will  follow  it  as  far  as  the  scaffold  at 
Toulouse.  That,  you  will  tell  me,  is  your  own  affair. 
But  what  provision  have  you  made  for  your  wife  and 
daughter?  Did  you  marry  me  and  get  her  to  leave  us 
to  perish  of  starvation  ?  Or  are  we  to  turn  kitchen 
wenches  or  sempstresses  for  our  livelihood?" 

With  a  groan,  the  Vicomte  sank  down  upon  the  bed 
and  covered  his  face  with  his  hands. 

"  God  pity  me ! "  he  cried,  in  a  voice  of  agony  —  an 
agony  such  as  the  fear  of  death  could  never  have  in- 
fused into  his  brave  soul;  an  agony  born  of  the  heart- 
lessness  of  this  woman  who  for  twenty  years  had 
shared  his  bed  and  board,  and  who  now  in  the  hour  gf 
his  adversity  failed  him  so  cruelly  —  so  tragically. 

"Aye,"  she  mocked  in  her  bitterness,  "call  upon 
God  to  pity  you,  for  I  shall  not." 

She  paced  the  room  now,  like  a  caged  lioness,  her 
face  livid  with  the  fury  that  possessed  her.  She  no 
longer  asked  questions;  she  no  longer  addressed  him; 
oath  followed  oath  from  her  thin  lips,  and  the  hideous- 
ness  of  this  woman's  blasphemy  made  me  shudder.  At 
last  there  were  heavy  steps  upon  the  stairs,  and, 
moved  by  a  sudden  impulse  — 

"Madame,"  I  cried,  "let  me  prevail  upon  you  to 
restrain  yourself." 


A  NIGHT  ALARM  113 

She  swung  round  to  face  me,  her  close-set  eyes 
ablaze  with  anger. 

"Sangdieu!  By  what  right  do  you  — "  she  began. 
But  this  was  no  time  to  let  a  woman's  tongue  go 
babbling  on;  no  time  for  ceremony;  no  season  for 
making  a  leg  and  addressing  her  with  a  simper.  I 
caught  her  viciously  by  the  wrist,  and  with  my  face 
close  up  to  hers  — 

"Folle!"  I  cried,  and  I'll  swear  no  man  had  ever 
used  the  word  to  her  before.  She  gasped  and  choked 
in  her  surprise  and  rage.  Then  lowering  my  voice  lest 
it  should  reach  the  approaching  soldiers:  "Would  you 
ruin  the  Vicomte  and  yourself?"  I  muttered.  Her 
eyes  asked  me  a  question,  and  I  answered  it.  "How 
do  you  know  that  the  soldiers  have  come  for  your 
husband  ?  It  may  be  that  they  are  seeking  me  —  and 
only  me.  They  may  know  nothing  of  the  Vicomte's 
defection.  Shall  you,  then,  be  the  one  to  inform  them 
of  it  by  your  unbridled  rantings  and  your  accu- 
sations?" 

Her  jaw  fell  open  in  astonishment.  This  was  a  side 
of  the  question  she  had  not  considered. 

"Let  me  prevail  upon  you,  madame,  to  withdraw 
and  to  be  of  good  courage.  It  is  more  than  likely  that 
you  alarm  yourself  without  cause." 

She  continued  to  stare  at  me  in  her  amazement  and 
the  confusion  that  was  congenital  with  it,  and  if  there 
was  not  time  for  her  to  withdraw,  at  least  the  possibil- 
ity I  had  suggested  acted  as  a  timely  warning. 

In  that  moment  the  door  opened  again,  and  on  the 
threshold  appeared  a  young  man  in  a  plumed  hat  and 
corselet,  carrying  a  naked  sword  in  one  hand  and  a 
lanthorn  in  the  other.  Behind  him  I  caught  the  gleam 
of  steel  from  the  troopers  at  his  heels. 


114  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

"Which  of  you  is  Monsieur  Rene  de  Lesperon?"  he 
inquired  politely,  his  utterance  flavoured  by  a  strong 
Gascon  accent. 

I  stood  forward.  "  I  am  known  by  that  name,  Mon- 
sieur le  Capitaine,"  said  I. 

He  looked  at  me  wistfully,  apologetically  almost, 
then  — 

"In  the  King's  name,  Monsieur  de  Lesperon,  I  call 
upon  you  to  yield ! "  said  he. 

"  I  have  been  expecting  you.  My  sword  is  yonder, 
monsieur,"  I  replied  suavely.  "  If  you  will  allow  me  to 
dress,  I  shall  be  ready  to  accompany  you  in  a  few 
minutes." 

He  bowed,  and  it  at  once  became  clear  that  his 
business  at  Lavedan  was  —  as  I  had  suggested  to  the 
Vicomtesse  might  be  possible  —  with  me  alone. 

"  I  am  grateful  for  the  readiness  of  your  submis- 
sion," said  this  very  polite  gentleman.  He  was  a 
comely  lad,  with  blue  eyes  and  a  good-humoured 
mouth,  to  which  a  pair  of  bristling  moustaches  sought 
vainly  to  impart  an  expression  of  ferocity. 

"Before  you  proceed  to  dress,  monsieur,  I  have  an- 
other duty  to  discharge." 

"Discharge  your  duty,  monsieur,"  I  answered. 
Whereupon  he  made  a  sign  to  his  men,  and  in  a 
moment  they  were  ransacking  my  garments  and 
effects.  While  this  was  taking  place,  he  turned  to  the 
Vicomte  and  Vicomtesse,  and  offered  them  a  thousand 
apologies  for  having  interrupted  their  slumbers,  and 
for  so  rudely  depriving  them  of  their  guest.  He  ad- 
vanced in  his  excuse  the  troublous  nature  of  the 
times,  and  threw  in  a  bunch  of  malisons  at  the  cir- 
cumstances which  forced  upon  soldiers  the  odious 


A  NIGHT  ALARM  115 

duties  of  the  tipstaff,  hoping  that  we  would  think 
him  none  the  less  a  gentleman  for  the  unsavoury 
business  upon  which  he  was  engaged. 

From  my  clothes  they  took  the  letters  addressed  to 
Lesperon  which  that  poor  gentleman  had  entrusted  to 
me  on  the  night  of  his  death;  and  among  these  there 
was  one  from  the  Due  d'Orleans  himself,  which  would 
alone  have  sufficed  to  have  hanged  a  regiment.  Be- 
sides these,  they  took  Monsieur  de  Marsac's  letter  of 
two  days  ago,  and  the  locket  containing  the  picture 
of  Mademoiselle  de  Marsac. 

The  papers  and  the  portrait  they  delivered  to  the 
Captain,  who  took  them  with  the  same  air  of  depreca- 
tion tainted  with  disgust  that  coloured  all  his  actions 
in  connection  with  my  arrest. 

To  this  same  repugnance  for  his  catchpoll -work  do 
X  owe  it  that  at  the  moment  of  setting  out  he  offered 
to  let  me  ride  without  the  annoyance  of  an  escort 
if  I  would  pass  him  my  parole  not  to  attempt  an 
escape. 

We  were  standing,  then,  in  the  hall  of  the  chateau. 
His  men  were  already  in  the  courtyard,  and  there 
,  were  only  present  Monsieur  le  Vicomte  and  Anatole 
—  the  latter  reflecting  the  look  of  sorrow  that  haunted 
his  master's  face.  The  Captain's  generosity  was 
certainly  leading  him  beyond  the  bounds  of  his 
authority,  and  it  touched  me. 

"Monsieur  is  very  generous,"  said  I. 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  impatiently. 

"  Cap  de  Diou ! "  he  cried  —  he  had  a  way  of  swear- 
ing that  reminded  me  of  my  friend  Cazalet.  "  It  is  no 
generosity,  monsieur.  It  is  a  desire  to  make  this  ob- 
scene work  more  congenial  to  the  spirit  of  a  gentleman. 


ii6  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

which,  devil  take  me,  I  cannot  stifle,  not  for  the  King 
himself.  And  then.  Monsieur  de  Lesperon,  are  we 
not  fellow-countrymen?  Are  we  not  Gascons  both? 
Pardieu,  there  is  no  more  respected  a  name  in  the 
whole  of  Gascony  than  that  of  Lesperon,  and  that  you 
belong  to  so  honourable  a  family  is  alone  more  than 
sufficient  to  warrant  such  slight  favours  as  it  may  be 
in  my  power  to  show  you." 

"You  have  my  parole  that  I  will  attempt  no  escape, 
Monsieur  le  Capitaine,"  I  answered,  bowing  my 
acknowledgment  of  his  compliments. 

"  I  am  Mironsac  de  Castelroux,  of  Chateau  Rouge 
in  Gascony,"  he  informed  me,  returning  my  bow.  My 
faith,  had  he  not  made  a  pretty  soldier  he  would  have 
made  an  admirable  master  of  deportment. 

My  leave-taking  of  Monsieur  de  Lavedan  was  brief 
but  cordial;  apologetic  on  my  part,  intensely  sympa- 
thetic on  his.  And  so  I  went  out  alone  with  Castel- 
roux upon  the  road  to  Toulouse,  his  men  being  ordered 
to  follow  in  half  an  hour's  time  and  to  travel  at  their 
leisure. 

As  we  cantered  along  —  Castelroux  and  I  —  we 
talked  of  many  things,  and  I  found  him  an  amusing 
and  agreeable  companion.  Had  my  mood  been  other 
than  despairing,  the  news  he  gave  me  might  have 
occasioned  me  some  concern;  for  it  seemed  that 
prisoners  arraigned  for  treason  and  participation  in 
the  late  rising  were  being  very  summarily  treated. 
Many  were  never  so  much  as  heard  in  their  own  de- 
fence, the  evidence  collected  of  their  defection  being 
submitted  to  the  Tribunal,  and  judgment  being  forth- 
with passed  upon  them  by  judges  who  had  no  ears  for 
anything  they  might  advance  in  their  own  favour. 


A  NIGHT  ALARM  117 

The  evidence  of  my  identity  was  complete:  there 
was  my  own  admission  to  Castelroux;  the  evidence  of 
the  treason  of  Lesperon  was  none  the  less  complete;  in 
fact,  it  was  notorious;  and  there  was  the  Duke's  letter 
found  amongst  my  effects.  If  the  judges  refused  to 
lend  an  ear  to  my  assurances  that  I  was  not  Lesperon 
at  all,  but  the  missing  Bardelys,  my  troubles  were 
likely  to  receive  a  very  summary  solution.  The  fear  of 
it,  however,  weighed  not  over-heavily  upon  me.  I  was 
supremely  indifferent.  Life  was  at  an  end  so  far  as  I 
was  concerned.  I  had  ruined  the  one  chance  of  real 
happiness  that  had  ever  been  held  out  to  me,  and  if 
the  gentlemen  of  the  courts  of  Toulouse  were  pleased 
to  send  me  unheeded  to  the  scaffold,  what  should  it 
signify? 

But  there  was  another  matter  that  did  interest  me, 
and  that  was  my  interview  with  Marsac.  Touching 
this,  I  spoke  to  my  captor. 

"There  is  a  gentleman  I  wish  to  see  at  Grenade  this 
morning.  You  have  amongst  the  papers  taken  from 
me  a  letter  making  this  assignation,  Monsieur  le 
Capitaine,  and  I  should  be  indeed  grateful  if  you 
would  determine  that  we  shall  break  our  fast  there,  so 
that  I  may  have  an  opportunity  of  seeing  him.  The 
matter  is  to  me  of  the  highest  importance." 

"It  concerns — ?"  he  asked. 

"A  lady,"  I  answered. 

"Ah,  yes!  But  the  letter  is  of  the  nature  of  a 
challenge,  is  it  not  ?  Naturally,  I  cannot  permit  you  to 
endanger  your  life." 

"Lest  we  disappoint  the  headsman  at  Toulouse?"  I 
laughed.  "Have  no  fear.  There  shall  be  no  duel,  I 
promise  you." 


ii8  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

"Then  I  am  content,  monsieur,  and  you  shall  se^ 
your  friend." 

I  thanked  him,  and  we  talked  of  other  things  there- 
after as  we  rode  in  the  early  morning  along  the  Tou- 
louse road.  Our  conversation  found  its  way,  I  scarce 
know  how,  to  the  topic  of  Paris  and  the  Court,  and 
when  I  casually  mentioned,  in  passing,  that  I  was  well 
acquainted  with  the  Luxembourg,  he  inquired  whether 
I  had  ever  chanced  to  meet  a  young  spark  of  the  name 
of  Mironsac. 

"Mironsac?"  I  echoed.  "Why,  yes."  And  I  was  on 
the  point  of  adding  that  I  knew  the  youth  intimately, 
and  what  a  kindness  I  had  for  him,  when,  deeming  it 
imprudent,  I  contented  myself  with  asking,  "You 
know  him?" 

"Pardiou!"  he  swore.  "The  fellow  is  my  cousin. 
We  are  both  Mironsacs;  he  is  Mironsac  of  Castelvert, 
whilst  I,  as  you  may  remember  I  told  you,  am  Miron- 
sac of  Castelroux.  To  distinguish  us,  he  is  always 
known  as  Mironsac,  and  I  as  Castelroux.  Peste!  It  is 
not  the  only  distinction,  for  while  he  basks  in  the  sun- 
shine of  the  great  world  of  Paris  —  they  are  wealthy, 
the  Mironsacs  of  Castelvert  —  I,  a  poor  devil  of  a 
Gascony  cadet,  am  playing  the  catchpoll  in  Langue- 
doc!" 

I  looked  at  him  with  fresh  interest,  for  the  mention 
of  that  dear  lad  Mironsac  brought  back  to  my  mind 
the  night  in  Paris  on  which  my  ill-starred  wager  had 
been  laid,  and  I  was  reminded  of  how  that  high- 
minded  youth  had  sought  —  when  it  was  too  late  — 
to  reason  me  out  of  the  undertaking  by  alluding  to  the 
dishonour  with  which  in  his  honest  eyes  it  must  be 
fraught. 


A  NIGHT  ALARM  119 

We  spoke  of  his  cousin  —  Castelroux  and  I  —  and  I 
went  so  far  now  as  to  confess  that  I  had  some  love  for 
the  youth,  whom  I  praised  in  unmistakable  terms. 
This  inclined  to  increase  the  friendliness  which  my 
young  Captain  had  manifested  since  my  arrest,  and  I 
was  presently  emboldened  by  it  to  beg  of  him  to  add 
to  the  many  favours  that  I  already  owed  him  by  re- 
turning to  me  the  portrait  which  his  men  had  sub- 
tracted from  my  pocket.  It  was  my  wish  to  return 
this  to  Marsac,  whilst  at  the  same  time  it  would  afford 
corroboration  of  my  story. 

To  this  Castelroux  made  no  difficulty. 

"Why,  yes,"  said  he,  and  he  produced  it.  "I  crave 
your  pardon  for  not  having  done  the  thing  of  my  own 
accord.  What  can  the  Keeper  of  the  Seals  want  with 
that  picture?" 

I  thanked  him,  and  pocketed  the  locket. 

"Poor  lady!"  he  sighed,  a  note  of  compassion  in  his 
voice.  "  By  my  soul.  Monsieur  de  Lesperon,  fine  work 
this  for  soldiers,  is  it  not?  Diable!  It  is  enough  to  turn 
a  gentleman's  stomach  sour  for  life,  and  make  him 
go  hide  himself  from  the  eyes  of  honest  men.  Had  I 
known  that  soldiering  meant  such  business,  I  had 
thought  twice  before  I  adopted  it  as  a  career  for  a  man 
of  honour.  I  had  remained  in  Gascony  and  tilled  the 
earth  sooner  than  have  lent  myself  to  this!" 

"  My  good  young  friend,"  I  laughed,  "  what  you  do, 
you  do  in  the  King's  name." 

"So  does  every  tipstaff,"  he  answered  impatiently, 
his  moustaches  bristling  as  the  result  of  the  scornful 
twist  he  gave  his  lips.  "  To  think  that  I  should  have  a 
hand  in  bringing  tears  to  the  eyes  of  that  sweet  lady! 
Quelle  besogne!  Bon  Diou,  quelle  besogne!" 


190  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

I  laughed  at  the  distress  vented  in  that  whimsical 
Gascon  tongue  of  his,  whereupon  he  eyed  me  in  a 
wonder  that  was  tempered  with  admiration.  For  to 
his  brave  soul  a  gentleman  so  stoical  as  to  laugh  under 
such  parlous  circumstances  was  very  properly  a  gen- 
tleman to  be  admired. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  RISEN  DEAD 

IT  was  close  upon  ten  o'clock  as  we  rode  into  the 
yard  of  the  imposing  Hotel  de  la  Couronne  at 
Grenade. 

Castelroux  engaged  a  private  room  on  the  first  floor 
—  a  handsome  chamber  overlooking  the  courtyard  — 
and  in  answer  to  the  inquiries  that  I  made  I  was  in- 
formed by  the  landlord  that  Monsieur  de  Marsac  was 
not  yet  arrived. 

"My  assignation  was  'before  noon,*  Monsieur  de 
Castelroux,"  said  I.  "With  your  permission,  I  would 
wait  until  noon." 

He  made  no  difficulty.  Two  hours  were  of  no 
account.  We  had  all  risen  very  early,  and  he  was, 
himself,  he  said,  entitled  to  some  rest. 

Whilst  I  stood  by  the  window  it  came  to  pass  tha'^ 
a  very  tall,  indifferently  apparelled  gentleman  issued 
from  the  hostelry  and  halted  for  some  moments  in 
conversation  with  the  ostler  below.  He  walked  with 
an  enfeebled  step,  and  leaned  heavily  for  support 
upon  a  stout  cane.  As  he  turned  to  reenter  the  inn  I 
had  a  glimpse  of  a  face  woefully  pale,  about  which,  as 
about  the  man's  whole  figure,  there  was  a  something 
that  was  familiar  —  a  something  that  puzzled  me,  and 
on  which  my  mind  was  still  dwelling  when  presently  I 
sat  down  to  breakfast  with  Castelroux. 

It  may  have  been  a  half-hour  later,  and,  our  meal 
being  at  an  end,  we  were  sitting  talking  —  I  growing 


f32  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

impatient  the  while  that  this  Monsieur  de  Marsac 
should  keep  me  waiting  so  —  when  of  a  sudden  the 
rattle  of  hoofs  drew  me  once  more  to  the  window.  A 
gentleman,  riding  very  recklessly,  had  just  dashed 
through  the  porte-cochere,  and  was  in  the  act  of  pull- 
ing up  his  horse.  He  was  a  lean,  active  man,  very 
richly  dressed,  and  with  a  face  that  by  its  swarthiness 
of  skin  and  the  sable  hue  of  beard  and  hair  looked  al- 
most black. 

"Ah,  you  are  there!"  he  cried,  with  something  be- 
tween a  snarl  and  a  laugh,  and  addressing  somebody 
within  the  shelter  of  the  porch.  "Par  la  mort  Dieu,  I 
had  hardly  looked  to  find  you!" 

From  the  recess  of  the  doorway  I  heard  a  gasp  of 
amazement  and  a  cry  of  — 

"Marsac!  You  here?" 

So  this  was  the  gentleman  I  was  to  see!  A  stable- 
boy  had  taken  his  reins,  and  he  leapt  nimbly  to  the 
ground.  Into  my  range  of  vision  hobbled  now  the  en- 
feebled gentleman  whom  earlier  I  had  noticed. 

"My  dear  Stanislas!"  he  cried,  "I  cannot  tell  you 
how  rejoiced  I  am  to  see  you!"  and  he  approached 
Marsac  with  arms  that  were  opened  as  if  to  embrace 
him. 

The  newcomer  surveyed  him  a  moment  in  wonder, 
with  eyes  grown  dull.  Then  abruptly  raising  his 
hand,  he  struck  the  fellow  on  the  breast,  and  thrust 
him  back  so  violently  that  but  for  the  stable-boy's 
intervention  he  had  of  a  certainty  fallen.  With  a  look 
of  startled  amazement  on  his  haggard  face,  the  invalid 
regarded  his  assailant. 

As  for  Marsac,  he  stepped  close  up  to  him. 

"What  is  this?"  he  cried  harshly.   "What  is  this 


THE  RISEN  DEAD  123 

make-believe  feebleness  ?  That  you  are  pale,  poltroon, 
I  do  not  wonder!  But  why  these  tottering  limbs? 
Why  this  assumption  of  weakness?  Do  you  look  to 
trick  me  by  these  signs?" 

"Have  you  taken  leave  of  your  senses?"  exclaimed 
the  other,  a  note  of  responsive  anger  sounding  in  his 
voice.   "Have  you  gone  mad,  Stanislas?" 

"Abandon  this  pretence,"  was  the  contemptuous 
answer.  "Two  days  ago  at  Lavedan,  my  friend,  they 
informed  me  how  complete  was  your  recovery;  from 
what  they  told  us,  it  was  easy  to  guess  why  you 
tarried  there  and  left  us  without  news  of  you.  That 
was  my  reason,  as  you  may  have  surmised,  for  writing 
to  you.  My  sister  has  mourned  you  for  dead  —  was 
mourning  you  for  dead  whilst  you  sat  at.  the  feet  of 
your  Roxalanne  and  made  love  to  her  among  the  roses 
of  Lavedan." 

"Lavedan?"  echoed  the  other  slowly.  Then,  rais- 
ing his  voice:  "What  the  devil  are  you  saying?"  he 
blazed.   "What  do  I  know  of  Lavedan?" 

In  a  flash  it  had  come  to  me  who  that  enfeebled 
gentleman  was.  Rodenard,  the  blunderer,  had  been 
at  fault  when  he  had  said  that  Lesperon  had  expired. 
Clearly  he  could  have  no  more  than  swooned;  for  here, 
in  the  flesh,  was  Lesperon  himself,  the  man  I  had  left 
for  dead  in  that  barn  by  Mirepoix. 

How  or  where  he  had  recovered  were  things  that  at 
the  moment  did  not  exercise  my  mind  —  nor  have  I 
since  been  at  any  pains  to  unravel  the  mystery  of  it; 
but  there  he  was,  and  for  the  moment  that  fact  was 
all-sufficing.  What  complications  would  come  of  his 
presence  Heaven  alone  could  foretell. 

"  Put  an  end  to  this  play-acting ! "  roared  the  savage 


124  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

Marsac.  "It  will  avail  you  nothing.  My  sister's  tears 
may  have  weighed  lightly  with  you,  but  you  shall  pay 
the  price  of  them,  and  of  the  slight  you  have  put  upon 
her." 

"My  God,  Marsac!"  cried  the  other,  roused  to  an 
equal  fierceness.   "Will  you  explain?" 

"Aye,"  snarled  Marsac,  and  his  sword  flashed  from 
his  scabbard,  "I'll  explain.  As  God  lives,  I'll  explain 
—  with  this!"  And  he  whirled  his  blade  under  the 
eyes  of  the  invalid.  "  Come,  my  master,  the  comedy's 
played  out.  Cast  aside  that  crutch  and  draw;  draw, 
man,  or, sangdieu,  I'll  run  you  through  as  you  stand! " 

There  was  a  commotion  below.  The  landlord  and  a 
posse  of  his  satellites  —  waiters,  ostlers,  and  stable- 
boys  —  rushed  between  them,  and  sought  to  restrain 
the  bloodthirsty  Marsac.  But  he  shook  them  off  as  a 
bull  shakes  off  a  pack  of  dogs,  and  like  an  angry  bull, 
too,  did  he  stand  his  ground  and  bellow.  In  a  moment 
his  sweeping  sword  had  cleared  a  circle  about  him.  In 
its  lightning  dartings  hither  and  thither  at  random, 
it  had  stung  a  waiter  in  the  calf,  and  when  the  fellow 
saw  the  blood  staining  his  hose,  he  added  to  the 
general  din  his  shrieks  that  he  was  murdered.  Marsac 
swore  and  threatened  in  a  breath,  and  a  kitchen- 
wench,  from  a  point  of  vantage  on  the  steps,  called 
shame  upon  him  and  abused  him  roundly  for  a 
cowardly  assassin  to  assail  a  poor  sufferer  who  could 
hardly  stand  upright. 

"  Po*  Cap  de  Diou ! "  swore  Castelroux  at  my  elbow. 
"Saw  you  ever  such  an  ado.?    What  has  chanced?" 

But  I  never  stayed  to  answer  him.  Unless  I  acted 
quickly  blood  would  assuredly  be  shed.  I  was  the  one 
man  who  could  explain  matters,  and  it  was  a  mercy 


THE  RISEN  DEAD  125 

for  Lesperon  that  I  should  have  been  at  hand  in  the 
hour  of  his  meeting  that  fire-eater  Marsac.  I  forgot 
the  circumstances  in  which  I  stood  to  Castelroux;  I 
forgot  everything  but  the  imminent  necessity  that  I 
should  intervene.  Some  seven  feet  below  our  window 
was  the  roof  of  the  porch;  from  that  to  the  ground  it 
might  be  some  eight  feet  more.  Before  my  Gascon 
captain  knew  what  I  was  about,  I  had  swung  myself 
down  from  the  window  on  to  the  projecting  porch.  A 
second  later,  I  created  a  diversion  by  landing  in  the 
midst  of  the  courtyard  fray,  with  the  alarmed  Castel- 
roux —  who  imagined  that  I  was  escaping  —  follow- 
ing by  the  same  unusual  road,  and  shouting  as  he 
came  — 

"Monsieur  de  Lesperon!  Hi!  Monsieur  de  Les- 
peron! Mordiou!  Remember  your  parole.  Monsieur 
de  Lesperon!" 

Nothing  could  have  been  better  calculated  to  stem 
Marsac's  fury;  nothing  could  have  so  predisposed  him 
to  lend  an  ear  to  what  I  had  to  say,  for  it  was  very 
evident  that  Castelroux's  words  were  addressed  to 
me,  and  that  it  was  I  whom  he  called  by  the  name  of 
Lesperon.  In  an  instant  I  was  at  Marsac's  side.  But 
before  I  could  utter  a  word  — 

"What  the  devil  does  this  mean?"  he  asked,  eyeing 
me  with  fierce  suspicion. 

"  It  means,  monsieur,  that  there  are  more  Lesperons 
than  one  in  France.  I  am  the  Lesperon  who  was  at 
Lavedan.  If  you  doubt  me,  ask  this  gentleman,  who 
arrested  me  there  last  night.  Ask  him,  too,  why  we 
have  halted  here.  Ask  him,  if  you  will,  to  show  you 
the  letter  that  you  left  at  Lavedan  making  an  assigna- 
tion here  before  noon  to-day,  which  letter  I  received." 


ia6  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

The  suspicion  faded  from  Marsac's  eyes,  and  they 
grew  round  with  wonder  as  he  listened  to  this  pro- 
digious array  of  evidence.  Lesperon  looked  on  in  no 
less  amazement,  yet  I  am  sure  from  the  manner  of  his 
glance  that  he  did  not  recognize  in  me  the  man  that 
had  succoured  him  at  Mirepoix.  That,  after  all,  was 
natural  enough;  for  the  minds  of  men  in  such  reduced 
conditions  as  had  been  his  upon  that  night  are  not 
prone  to  receive  very  clear  impressions,  and  still  less 
prone  to  retain  such  impressions  as  they  do  receive. 

Before  Marsac  could  answer  me,  Castelroux  was  at 
my  side. 

"A  thousand  apologies!"  he  laughed.  "A  fool 
might  have  guessed  the  errand  that  took  you  so 
quickly  through  that  window,  and  none  but  a  fool 
would  have  suspected  you  of  seeking  to  escape.  It 
was  unworthy  in  me,  Monsieur  de  Lesperon." 

I  turned  to  him  while  those  others  still  stood  ga.p- 
ing,  and  led  him  aside. 

"Monsieur  le  Capitaine,"  said  I,  "you  find  it 
troublesome  enough  to  reconcile  your  conscience  with 
such  arrests  as  you  are  charged  to  make,  is  it  not 
so?" 

"Mordiou!"  he  cried,  by  way  of  emphatically 
assenting. 

"Now,  if  you  should  chance  to  overhear  words  be- 
traying to  you  certain  people  whom  otherwise  you 
would  never  suspect  of  being  rebels,  your  soldier's 
duty  would,  nevertheless,  compel  you  to  apprehend 
them,  would  it  not?" 

"Why,  true.  I  am  afraid  it  would,"  he  answered, 
with  a  grimace. 

"But,  if  forewarned  that  by  being  present  in  a 


THE  RISEN  DEAD  127 

certain  place  you  should  overhear  such  words,  what 
course  would  you  pursue?" 

"Avoid  it  like  a  pestilence,  monsieur,"  he  answered 
promptly. 

"Then,  Monsieur  le  Capitaine,  may  I  trespass  upon 
your  generosity  to  beseech  you  to  let  me  take  these 
litigants  to  our  room  upstairs,  and  to  leave  us  alone 
there  for  a  half-hour?" 

Frankness  was  my  best  friend  in  dealing  with 
Castelroux  —  frankness  and  his  distaste  for  the  busi- 
ness they  had  charged  him  with.  As  for  Marsac  and 
Lesperon,  they  were  both  eager  enough  to  have  the 
mystery  explained,  and  when  —  Castelroux  having 
consented  —  I  invited  them  to  my  chamber,  they 
came  readily  enough. 

Since  Monsieur  de  Lesperon  did  not  recognize  me, 
there  was  no  reason  why  I  should  enlighten  him 
touching  my  identity,  and  every  reason  why  I  should 
not.  As  soon  as  they  were  seated,  I  went  to  the  heart 
of  the  matter  at  once  and  without  preamble. 

"A  fortnight  ago,  gentlemen,"  said  I,  "  I  was  driven 
by  a  pack  of  dragoons  across  the  Garonne.  I  was 
wounded  in  the  shoulder  and  very  exhausted,  and  I 
knocked  at  the  gates  of  Lavedan  to  crave  shelter. 
That  shelter,  gentlemen,  was  afforded  me,  and  when  I 
had  announced  myself  as  Monsieur  de  Lesperon,  it 
was  all  the  more  cordially  because  one  Monsieur  de 
Marsac,  who  was  a  friend  of  the  Vicomte  de  Lavedan, 
and  a  partisan  in  the  lost  cause  of  Orleans,  happened 
often  to  have  spoken  of  a  certain  Monsieur  de  Les- 
peron as  his  very  dear  friend.  I  have  no  doubt,  gentle- 
men, that  you  will  think  harshly  of  me  because  I  did 
not  enlighten  the  Vicomte.    But  there  were  reasons 


128  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

for  which  I  trust  you  will  not  press  me,  since  I  shall 
find  it  difficult  to  answer  you  with  truth." 

"But  is  your  name  Lesperon?"  cried  Lesperon. 

"That,  monsieur,  is  a  small  matter.  Whether  my 
name  is  Lesperon  or  not,  I  confess  to  having  practised 
a  duplicity  upon  the  Vicomte  and  his  family,  since 
I  am  certainly  not  the  Lesperon  whose  identity  I 
accepted.  But  if  I  accepted  that  identity,  monsieur,  I 
also  accepted  your  liabilities,  and  so  I  think  that  you 
should  find  it  in  your  heart  to  extend  me  some  meas- 
ure of  forgiveness.  As  Rene  de  Lesperon,  of  Lesperon 
in  Gascony,  I  was  arrested  last  night  at  Lavedan,  and, 
as  you  may  observe,  I  am  being  taken  to  Toulouse  to 
stand  the  charge  of  high  treason.  I  have'not  demurred; 
I  have  not  denied  in  the  hour  of  trouble  the  identity 
that  served  me  in  my  hour  of  need.  I  am  taking  the 
bitter  with  the  sweet,  and  I  assure  you,  gentlemen, 
*hat  the  bitter  predominates  in  a  very  marked  degree.** 

"But  this  must  not  be,"  cried  Lesperon,  rising.  "J 
know  not  what  use  you  may  have  made  of  my  name, 
but  I  have  no  reason  to  think  that  you  can  have 
brought  discredit  upon  it,  and  so — " 

"I  thank  you,  monsieur,  but — '* 

"And  so  I  cannot  submit  that  you'shall  go  to  Tou- 
louse in  my  stead.  Where  is  this  officer  whose  prisoner 
you  are?  Pray  summon  him,  monsieur,  and  let  us  set 
the  matter  right." 

"This  is  very  generous,"  I  answered  calmly.  "But 
I  have  crimes  enough  upon  my  head,  and  so,  if  the 
worst  should  befall  me,  I  am  simply  atoning  in  one 
person  for  the  errors  of  two." 

"But  that  is  no  concern  of  mine!"  he  cried. 

"  It  is  so  much  your  concern  that  if  you  commit  so 


THE  RISEN  DEAD  129 

egregious  a  blunder  as  to  denounce  yourself,  you  will 
have  ruined  yourself,  without  materially  benefiting 
me." 

He  still  objected,  but  in  this  strain  I  argued  for 
some  time,  and  to  such  good  purpose  that  in  the  end  I 
made  him  realize  that  by  betraying  himself  he  would 
not  save  me,  but  only  join  me  on  the  journey  to  the 
scaffold. 

"Besides,  gentlemen,"  I  pursued,  "my  case  is  far 
from  hopeless.  I  have  every  confidence  that,  as 
matters  stand,  by  putting  forth  my  hand  at  the  right 
moment,  by  announcing  my  identity  at  the  proper 
season,  I  can,  if  am  so  inclined,  save  my  neck  from  the 
headsman." 

"If  you  are  so  inclined?"  they  both  cried,  their 
looks  charged  with  inquiry. 

"Let  that  be,"  I  answered;  "it  does  not  at  present 
concern  us.  What  I  desire  you  to  understand,  Mon- 
sieur de  Lesperon,  is  that  if  I  go  to  Toulouse  alone, 
when  the  time  comes  to  proclaim  myself,  and  it  is 
found  that  I  am  not  Rene  de  Lesperon,  of  Lesperon  in 
Gascony,  they  will  assume  that  you  are  dead,  and 
there  will  be  no  count  against  me. 

"  But  if  you  come  with  me,  and  thereby  afford  proof 
that  you  are  alive,  my  impersonation  of  you  may 
cause  me  trouble.  They  may  opine  that  I  have  been 
an  abettor  of  treason,  that  I  have  attempted  to 
circumvent  the  ends  of  justice,  and  that  I  may  have 
impersonated  you  in  order  to  render  possible  your 
escape.  For  that,  you  may  rest  assured,  they  will 
punish  me. 

"You  will  see,  therefore,  that  my  own  safety  rests 
on  your  passing  quietly  out  of  France  and  leaving  the 


tyy  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

belief  behind  you  that  you  are  dead  —  a  belief  that 
will  quickly  spread  once  I  shall  have  cast  off  your 
identity.   You  apprehend  me?" 

"Vaguely,  monsieur;  and  perhaps  you  are  right. 
What  do  you  say,  Stanislas?  " 

"Say?"  cried  the  fiery  Marsac.  "I  am  weighed 
down  with  shame,  my  poor  Rene,  for  having  so  mis- 
judged you." 

More  he  would  have  said  in  the  same  strain,  but 
Lesperon  cut  him  short  and  bade  him  attend  to  the 
issue  now  before  him.  They  discussed  it  at  some 
length,  but  always  under  the  cloud  in  which  my 
mysteriousness  enveloped  it,  and,  in  the  end,  en- 
couraged by  my  renewed  assurances  that  I  could  best 
save  myself  if  Lesperon  were  not  taken  with  me,  the 
Gascon  consented  to  my  proposals. 

Marsac  was  on  his  way  to  Spain.  His  sister,  he  told 
us,  awaited  him  at  Carcassonne.  Lesperon  should  set 
out  with  him  at  once,  and  in  forty-eight  hours  they 
would  be  beyond  the  reach  of  the  King's  anger. 

"  I  have  a  favour  to  ask  of  you.  Monsieur  de  Mar- 
sac," said  I,  rising;  for  our  business  was  at  an  end. 
"It  is  that  if  you  should  have  an  opportunity  of 
communicating  with  Mademoiselle  de  Lavedan,  you 
will  let  her  know  that  I  am  not  —  not  the  Lesperon 
that  is  betrothed  to  your  sister." 

"I  will  inform  her  of  it,  monsieur,"  he  answered 
readily;  and  then,  of  a  sudden,  a  look  of  understand- 
ing and  of  infinite  pity  came  into  his  eyes.  "My 
God!"  he  cried. 

"What  is  it,  monsieur?"  I  asked,  staggered  by 
that  sudden  outcry. 

"  Do  not  ask  me,  monsieur,  do  not  ask  me.   I  had 


THE  RISEN  DEAD  131 

forgotten  for  the  moment,  in  the  excitement  of  all 
these  revelations.   But — "  He  stopped  short. 

"Well,  monsieur?" 

He  seemed  to  ponder  a  moment,  then  looking  at  me 
again  with  that  same  compassionate  glance  — 

"  You  had  better  know,"  said  he.  "  And  yet  —  it  is 
a  difficult  thing  to  tell  you.   I  understand  now  much 
that  I   had   not  dreamt  of.     You  —  you   have   no 
suspicion  of  how  you  came  to  be  arrested  ? " 
.  "  For  my  alleged  participation  in  the  late  rebellion  ? " 

"Yes,  yes.  But  who  gave  the  information  of  your 
whereabouts?  Who  told  the  Keeper  of  the  Seals 
where  you  were  to  be  found?" 

*'0h,  that?"  I  answered  easily.  "Why,  I  never 
doubted  it.  It  was  the  coxcomb  Saint-Eustache.  I 
whipped  him  — " 

I  stopped  short.  There  was  something  in  Marsac's 
black  face,  something  in  his  glance,  that  forced  the 
unspoken  truth  upon  my  mind. 

"Mother  in  heaven !"  I  cried.  " Do  you  mean  that 
it  was  Mademoiselle  de  Lavedan  ? " 

He  bowed  his  head  in  silence.  Did  she  hate  me, 
then,  so  much  as  that?  Would  nothing  less  than  my 
death  appease  her,  and  had  I  utterly  crushed  the  love 
that  for  a  little  while  she  had  borne  me,  that  she  could 
bring  herself  to  hand  me  over  to  the  headsman  ? 

God !  What  a  stab  was  that!  It  turned  me  sick  with 
grief — aye,  and  with  some  rage  —  not  against  her, 
oh,  not  against  her;  against  the  fates  that  had  brought 
such  things  to  pass. 

I  controlled  myself  while  their  eyes  were  yet  upon 
me.  I  went  to  the  door  and  held  it  open  for  them,  and 
they,  perceiving  something  of  my  disorder,  were 


132  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

courteous  enough  to  omit  the  protracted  leave-takings 
that  under  other  auspices  there  might  have  been. 
Marsac  paused  a  moment  on  the  threshold  as  if  he 
would  have  offered  me  some  word  of  comfort.  Then, 
perceiving,  perhaps,  how  banal  must  be  all  comfort 
that  was  of  words  alone,  and  how  it  might  but  in- 
crease the  anger  of  the  wound  it  was  meant  to  balm, 
he  sighed  a  simple  "Adieu,  monsieur!"  and  went  his 
way. 

When  they  were  gone,  I  returned  to  the  table,  and) 
sitting  down,  I  buried  my  head  in  my  arms,  and  there 
I  lay,  a  prey  to  the  most  poignant  grief  that  in  all  my 
easy,  fortunate  life  I  had  ever  known.  That  she  should 
have  done  this  thing!  That  the  woman  I  loved,  the 
pure,  sweet,  innocent  girl  that  I  had  wooed  so  ardently 
in  my  unworthiness  at  Lavedan,  should  have  stooped 
to  such  an  act  of  betrayal !  To  what  had  I  not  reduced 
her,  since  such  things  could  be! 

Then,  out  of  my  despair  grew  comfort,  slowly  at 
first,  and  more  vigorously  anon.  The  sudden  shock  of 
the  news  had  robbed  me  of  some  of  my  wit,  and  had 
warped  my  reasoning.  Later,  as  the  pain  of  the  blow 
grew  duller,  I  came  to  reflect  that  what  she  had  done 
was  but  a  proof —  an  overwhelming  proof —  of  how 
deeply  she  had  cared.  Such  hatred  as  this  can  be  but 
born  of  a  great  love;  reaction  is  ever  to  be  measured 
by  the  action  that  occasions  it,  and  a  great  revulsion 
can  only  come  of  a  great  aflPection.  Had  she  been  in- 
diff'erent  to  me,  or  had  she  but  entertained  for  me  a 
passing  liking,  she  would  not  have  sufi^ered  so. 

And  so  I  came  to  realize  how  cruel  must  have  been 
the  pang  that  had  driven  her  to  this.  But  she  had 
loved  me;  aye,  and  she  loved  me  still,  for  all  that  she 


I 


THE  RISEN  DEAD  j^S 

thought  she  hated,  and  for  all  that  she  had  acted  as  if 
she  hated.  But  even  if  I  were  wrong  —  even  if  she  did 
hate  me  —  what  a  fresh  revulsion  would  not  be  hers 
when  anon  she  learnt  that  —  whatever  my  sins  —  I 
had  not  played  lightly  with  her  love;  that  I  was  not, 
as  she  had  imagined,  the  betrothed  of  another  woman ! 

The  thought  fired  me  like  wine.  I  was  no  longer 
listless  —  no  longer  indifferent  as  to  whether  I  lived 
or  died.  I  must  live.  I  must  enlighten  the  Keeper  of 
the  Seals  and  the  judges  at  Toulouse  concerning  my 
identity.  Why,  indeed,  had  I  ever  wavered?  Bardelys 
the  Magnificent  must  come  to  life  again,  and  then  — 
What  then? 

As  suddenly  as  I  had  been  exalted  was  I  cast  down. 
There  was  a  rumour  abroad  that  Bardelys  was  dead. 
In  the  wake  of  that  rumour  I  shrewdly  guessed  that 
the  report  of  the  wager  that  had  brought  him  into 
Languedoc  would  not  be  slow  to  follow.  What  then  ? 
Would  she  love  me  any  the  better  ?  Would  she  hate  me 
any  the  less?  If  now  she  was  wounded  by  the  belief 
that  I  had  made  sport  of  her  love,  would  not  that 
same  belief  be  with  her  again  when  she  came  to  know 
the  truth? 

Aye,  the  tangle  was  a  grievous  one.  Yet  I  took 
heart.  My  old  resolve  returned  to  me,  and  I  saw  the 
need  for  urgency  —  in  that  alone  could  lie  now  my  re- 
demption in  her  eyes.  My  wager  must  be  paid  before 
I  again  repaired  to  her,  for  all  that  it  should  leave  me 
poor  indeed.  In  the  mean  while,  I  prayed  God  that 
she  might  not  hear  of  it  ere  I  returned  to  tell  her. 


CHAPTER  XI 
THE  KING'S  COMMISSIONER 

FOR  that  most  amiable  of  Gascon  cadets,  Mon- 
sieur de  Castelroux,  I  have  naught  but  the  highest 
praise.  In  his  every  dealing  with  me  he  revealed  him- 
self so  very  gallant,  generous,  and  high-minded  a 
gentleman  that  it  was  little  short  of  a  pleasure  to  be  his 
prisoner.  He  made  no  inquiries  touching  the  nature 
of  my  interview  with  those  two  gentlemen  at  the 
Hotel  de  la  Couronne,  and  when  at  the  moment  of 
leaving  I  requested  him  to  deliver  a  packet  to  the 
taller  of  those  same  two  he  did  so  without  comment 
or  question.  That  packet  contained  the  portrait  of 
Mademoiselle  de  Marsac,  but  on  the  inner  wrapper 
was  a  note  requesting  Lesperon  not  to  open  it  until  he 
should  be  in  Spain. 

Neither  Marsac  nor  Lesperon  did  I  see  again  before 
we  resumed  our  journey  to  Toulouse. 

At  the  moment  of  setting  out  a  curious  incident 
occurred.  Castelroux's  company  of  dragoons  had 
ridden  into  the  courtyard  as  we  were  mounting.  They 
lined  up  under  their  lieutenant's  command,  to  allow 
us  to  pass;  but  as  we  reached  the  porte-cochere  we 
were  delayed  for  a  moment  by  a  travelling-carriage, 
entering  for  relays,  and  coming,  apparently,  from 
Toulouse.  Castelroux  and  I  backed  our  horses  until  we 
were  in  the  midst  of  the  dragoons,  and  so  we  stood 
while  the  vehicle  passed  in.  As  it  went  by,  one  of  the 
leather  curtains  was  drawn  back,  and  my  heart  was 


THE  KING'S  COiMMISSIONER  135 

quickened  by  the  sight  of  a  pale  girl  face,  with  eyes  of 
blue,  and  brown  curls  lying  upon  the  slender  neck. 
Her  glance  lighted  on  me,  swordless  and  in  the  midst 
of  that  company  of  troopers,  and  I  bowed  low  upon  the 
withers  of  my  horse,  doffing  my  hat  in  distant  sal- 
utation. 

The  curtain  dropped  again,  and  eclipsed  the  face  of 
the  woman  that  had  betrayed  me.  With  my  mind  full 
of  wild  surmisings  as  to  what  emotions  might  have 
awakened  in  her  upon  beholding  me,  I  rode  away  in 
silence  at  Monsieur  de  Castelroux's  side.  Had  she 
experienced  any  remorse?  Any  shame?  Whether  or 
not  such  feelings  had  been  aroused  at  sight  of  me,  it 
certainly  would  not  be  long  ere  she  experienced  them, 
for  at  the  Hotel  de  la  Couronne  were  those  who  would 
enlighten  her. 

The  contemplation  of  the  remorseful  grief  that 
might  anon  beset  her  when  she  came  to  ponder  the 
truth  of  matters,  and,  with  that  truth,  those  things 
that  at  Lavedan  I  had  uttered,  filled  me  presently 
with  regret  and  pity.  I  grew  impatient  to  reach  Tou- 
louse and  tell  the  judges  of  the  mistake  that  there  had 
been.  My  name  could  not  be  unknown  to  them,  and 
the  very  mention  of  it,  I  thought,  should  suffice  to 
give  them  pause  and  lead  them  to  make  inquiries  be- 
fore sending  me  to  the  scaffold.  Yet  I  was  not  with- 
out uneasiness,  for  the  summariness  with  which 
Castelroux  had  informed  me  they  were  in  the  habit  of 
dealing  with  those  accused  of  high  treason  occasioned 
me  some  apprehensive  pangs. 

This  apprehension  led  me  to  converse  with  my 
captor  touching  those  trials,  seeking  to  gather  from 
him  who  were  the  judges.  I  learnt  then  that  besides 


136  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

the  ordinary  Tribunal,  a  Commissioner  had  been 
dispatched  by  His  Majesty,  and  was  hourly  expected 
to  arrive  at  Toulouse.  It  would  be  his  mission  to 
supervise  and  direct  the  inquiries  that  were  taking 
place.  It  was  said,  he  added,  that  the  King  himself 
was  on  his  way  thither,  to  be  present  at  the  trial 
of  Monsieur  le  Due  de  Montmorency.  But  he  was 
travelling  by  easy  stages,  and  was  not  yet  expected 
for  some  days.  My  heart,  which  had  leapt  at  the 
news,  as  suddenly  sank  again  with  the  consideration 
that  I  should  probably  be  disposed  of  before  theKing's 
arrival.  It  would  behove  me,  therefore,  to  look  else- 
where for  help  and  for  some  one  to  swear  to  my 
identity. 

"Do  you  know  the  name  of  this  King's  Com- 
missioner?" I  asked. 

"It  is  a  certain  Comte  de  Chatellerault,  a  gentle- 
man said  to  stand  very  high  in  His  Majesty's  favour." 

"Chatellerault!"  I  cried  in  wondering  joy. 

"You  know  him?" 

" Most  excellently! "  I  laughed.  "  We  are  very  inti- 
mately acquainted." 

"Why,  then,  monsieur,  I  augur  you  this  gentleman's 
friendship,  and  that  it  may  pilot  you  through  your 
trouble.  Although  — "  Being  mercifully  minded,  he 
stopped  short. 

But  I  laughed  easily.  "  Indeed,  my  dear  Captain,  I 
think  it  will,"  said  I;  "although  friendship  in  this 
world  is  a  thing  of  which  the  unfortunate  know  little." 

But  I  rejoiced  too  soon,  as  you  shall  hear. 

We  rode  diligently  on,  our  way  lying  along  the  fertile 
banks  of  the  Garonne,  now  yellow  with  the  rustling 
corn.    Towards  evening  we  made  our  last  halt  at 


THE  KING'S  COMMISSIONER  137 

Fenouillet,  whence  a  couple  of  hours'  riding  should 
bring  us  to  Toulouse. 

At  the  post-house  we  overtook  a  carriage  that 
seemingly  had  halted  for  relays,  but  upon  which  I 
scarce  bestowed  a  glance  as  I  alighted. 

Whilst  Castelroux  went  to  arrange  for  fresh  horses, 
I  strode  into  the  common  room,  and  there  for  some 
moments  I  stood  discussing  the  viands  with  our  host. 
When  at  last  I  had  resolved  that  a  cold  pasty  and  a 
bottle  of  Armagnac  would  satisfy  our  wants,  I  looked 
about  me  to  take  survey  of  those  in  the  room.  One 
group  in  a  remote  corner  suddenly  riveted  my  atten- 
tion to  such  a  degree  that  I  remained  deaf  to  the  voice 
of  Castelroux,  who  had  just  entered,  and  who  stood 
now  beside  me.  In  the  centre  of  this  group  was  the 
Comte  de  Chatellerault  himself,  a  thick-set,  sombre 
figure,  dressed  with  that  funereal  magnificence  he 
affected. 

But  it  was  not  the  sight  of  him  that  filled  me  with 
amazement.  For  that,  Castelroux's  information  had 
prepared  me,  and  I  well  understood  in  what  capacity 
he  was  there.  My  surprise  sprang  rather  from  the 
fact  that  amongst  the  half-dozen  gentlemen  about 
him  —  and  evidently  in  attendance  —  I  beheld  the 
Chevalier  de  Saint-Eustache.  Now,  knowing  as  I  did, 
the  Chevalier's  treasonable  leanings,  there  was  ample 
cause  for  my  astonishment  at  finding  him  in  such 
company.  Apparently,  too,  he  was  on  very  intimate 
terms  with  the  Count,  for  in  raising  my  glance  I  had 
caught  him  in  the  act  of  leaning  over  to  whisper 
familiarly  in  Chatellerault's  ear. 

Their  eyes  —  indeed,  for  that  matter  the  eyes  of 
the  entire  company  —  were  turned  in  my  direction. 


■ 


138  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

Perhaps  it  was  not  a  surprising  thing  that  Chatelle- 
rault  should  gaze  upon  me  in  that  curious  fashion,  for 
was  it  not  probable  that  he  had  heard  that  I  was  dead  ? 
Besides,  the  fact  that  I  was  without  a  sword,  and  that 
at  my  side  stood  a  King's  officer,  afforded  evidence 
enough  of  my  condition,  and  well  might  Chatellerault 
stare  at  beholding  me  so  manifestly  a  prisoner. 

Even  as  I  watched  him,  he  appeared  to  start  at 
something  that  Saint-Eustache  was  saying,  and  a 
curious  change  spread  over  his  face.  Its  whilom 
expression  had  been  rather  one  of  dismay;  for,  having 
believed  me  dead,  he  no  doubt  accounted  his  wager 
won,  whereas  seeing  me  alive  had  destroyed  that 
pleasant  conviction.  But  now  it  took  on  a  look  of 
relief  and  of  something  that  suggested  malicious 
cunning. 

"That,"  said  Castelroux  in  my  ear,  "is  the  King's 
commissioner." 

Did  I  not  know  it?  I  never  waited  to  answer  him, 
but,  striding  across  the  room,  I  held  out  my  hand  — 
over  the  table  —  to  Chatellerault. 

"My  dear  Comte,"  I  cried,  "you  are  most  choicely 
met." 

I  would  have  added  more,  but  there  was  something 
in  his  attitude  that  silenced  me.  He  had  turned  half 
from  me,  and  stood  now,  hand  on  hip,  his  great  head 
thrown  back  and  tilted  towards  his  shoulder,  his 
expression  one  of  freezing  and  disdainful  wonder. 

Now,  if  his  attitude  filled  me  with  astonishment 
and  apprehension,  consider  how  these  feelings  were 
heightened  by  his  words. 

"Monsieur  de  Lesperon,  I  can  but  express  amaze- 
ment at  your  effrontery.  If  we  have  been  acquainted 


THE  KING'S  COMMISSIONER  139 

in  the  past,  do  you  think  that  is  a  sufficient  reason  for 
me  to  take  your  hand  now  that  you  have  placed  your- 
self in  a  position  which  renders  it  impossible  for  His 
Majesty's  loyal  servants  to  know  you?" 

I  fell  back  a  pace,  my  mind  scarce  grasping  yet  the 
depths  of  this  inexplicable  attitude. 

"This  to  me,  Chatellerault?"  I  gasped. 

"To  you?"  he  blazed,  stirred  to  a  sudden  pas- 
sion. "What  else  did  you  expect.  Monsieur  de 
Lesperon  ? " 

I  had  it  in  me  to  give  him  the  lie,  to  denounce  him 
then  for  a  low,  swindling  trickster.  I  understood  all 
at  once  the  meaning  of  this  wondrous  make-believe. 
From  Saint-Eustache  he  had  gathered  the  mistake 
there  was,  and  for  his  wager's  sake  he  would  let  the 
error  prevail,  and  hurry  me  to  the  scaflFold.  What  else 
might  I  have  expected  from  the  man  that  had  lured 
me  into  such  a  wager  —  a  wager  which  the  knowledge 
he  possessed  had  made  him  certain  of  winning? 
W^ould  he  who  had  cheated  at  the  dealing  of  the 
cards  neglect  an  opportunity  to  cheat  again  during 
the  progress  of  the  game? 

As  I  have  said,  I  had  it  in  my  mind  to  cry  out  that 
he  lied  —  that  I  was  not  Lesperon  —  that  he  knew  I 
was  Bardelys.  But  the  futility  of  such  an  outcry  came 
to  me  simultaneously  with  the  thought  of  it.  And,  I 
fear  me,  I  stood  before  him  and  his  satellites  —  the 
mocking  Saint-Eustache  amongst  them  —  a  very 
foolish  figure. 

"There  is  no  more  to  be  said,"  I  murmured  at  last. 

"But  there  is!"  he  retorted.  "There  is  much  more 
to  be  said.  You  shall  render  yet  an  account  of  your 
treason,  and  I  am  afraid,  my  poor  rebel,  that  your 


I40  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

comely  head  will  part  company  with  your  shapely 
body.  You  and  I  will  meet  at  Toulouse.  What  more 
is  to  be  said  will  be  said  in  the  Tribunal  there." 

A  chill  encompassed  me.  I  was  doomed,  it  seemed. 
This  man,  ruling  the  province  pending  the  King's 
arrival,  would  see  to  it  that  none  came  forward  to 
recognize  me.  He  would  expedite  the  comedy  of  my 
trial,  and  close  it  with  the  tragedy  of  my  execution. 
My  professions  of  a  mistake  of  identity  —  if  I  wasted 
breath  upon  them  —  would  be  treated  with  disdain 
and  disregarded  utterly.  God!  What  a  position  had  I 
got  myself  into,  and  what  a  vein  of  comedy  ran  through 
it  —  grim,  tragic  comedy,  if  you  will,  yet  comedy  in 
all  faith.  The  very  woman  whom  I  had  wagered  to 
wed  had  betrayed  me  into  the  hands  of  the  very  man 
with  whom  I  laid  my  wager. 

But  there  was  more  in  it  than  that.  As  I  had  told 
Mironsac  that  night  in  Paris,  when  the  thing  had  been 
initiated,  it  was  a  duel  that  was  being  fought  betwixt 
Chatellerault  and  me  —  a  duel  for  supremacy  in  the 
King's  good  graces.  We  were  rivals,  and  he  desired  my 
removal  from  the  Court.  To  this  end  had  he  lured  me 
into  a  bargain  that  should  result  in  my  financial  ruin, 
thereby  compelling  me  to  withdraw  from  the  costly 
life  of  the  Luxembourg,  and  leaving  him  supreme,  the 
sole  and  uncontested  recipient  of  our  master's  favour. 
Now  into  his  hand  Fate  had  thrust  a  stouter  weapon 
and  a  deadlier:  a  weapon  which  not  only  should  make 
him  master  of  the  wealth  that  I  had  pledged,  but  one 
whereby  he  might  remove  me  for  all  time,  a  thousand- 
fold more  effectively  than  the  mere  encompassing  of 
my  ruin  would  have  done. 

I  was  doomed.  I  realized  it  fully  and  very  bitterly. 


THE  KING'S  COMMISSIONER  141 

I  was  to  go  out  of  the  ways  of  men  unnoticed  and  un- 
mourned;  as  a  rebel,  under  the  obscure  name  of  an- 
other and  bearing  another's  sins  upon  my  shoulders,  I 
was  to  pass  almost  unheeded  to  the  gallows.  Bardelys 
the  Magnificent  —  the  Marquis  Marcel  Saint-Pol  de 
Bardelys,  whose  splendour  had  been  a  byword  in 
France  —  was  to  go  out  like  a  guttering  candle.  ■ 

The  thought  filled  me  with  the  awful  frenzy  that  so 
often  goes  with  impotency  —  such  a  frenzy  as  the 
damned  in  hell  may  know.  I  forgot  in  that  hour  my 
precept  that  under  no  conditions  should  a  gentleman 
give  way  to  anger.  In  a  blind  access  of  fury  I  flung 
myself  across  the  table  and  caught  that  villainous 
cheat  by  the  throat,  before  any  there  could  put  out  a 
hand  to  stop  me. 

He  was  a  heavy  man,  if  a  short  one,  and  the 
strength  of  his  thick-set  frame  was  a  thing  abnormal. 
Yet  at  that  moment  such  nervous  power  did  I  gather 
from  my  rage,  that  I  swung  him  from  his  feet  as  though 
he  had  been  the  puniest  weakling.  I  dragged  him  down 
on  to  the  table,  and  there  I  ground  his  face  with  a 
most  excellent  good-will  and  relish. 

"You  liar,  you  cheat,  you  thief!"  I  snarled  like  any 
cross-grained  mongrel.  "The  King  shall  hear  of  this, 
you  knave!  By  God,  he  shall!" 

They  dragged  me  from  him  at  last  —  those  lapdogs 
that  attended  him  —  and  with  much  rough  handling 
they  sent  me  sprawling  among  the  sawdust  on  the 
floor.  It  is  more  than  likely  that  but  for  Castelroux's 
intervention  they  had  made  short  work  of  me  there 
and  then. 

But  with  a  bunch  of  Mordious,  Sangdious,  and  Po* 
Cap  de  Dious,  the  little  Gascon  flung  himself  before 


141  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

my  prostrate  figure,  and  bade  them  in  the  King's 
name,  and  at  their  peril,  to  stand  back. 

Chatellerault,  sorely  shaken,  his  face  purple,  and 
with  blood  streaming  from  his  nostrils,  had  sunk  into 
a  chair.  He  rose  now,  and  his  first  words  were  in- 
coherent, raging  gasps. 

"What  is  your  name,  sir?"  he  bellowed  at  last, 
addressing  the  Captain. 

"Amedee  de  Mironsac  de  Castelroux,  of  Chateau 
Rouge  in  Gascony,"  answered  my  captor,  with  a 
grand  manner  and  a  flourish,  and  added,  "Your 
servant." 

"What  authority  have  you  to  allow  your  prisoners 
this  degree  of  freedom?" 

"I  do  not  need  authority,  monsieur,"  replied  the 
Gascon. 

"Do  you  not?"  blazed  the  Count.  "We  shall  see. 
Wait  until  I  am  in  Toulouse,  my  malapert  friend." 

Castelroux  drew  himself  up,  straight  as  a  rapier,  his 
face  slightly  flushed  and  his  glance  angry,  yet  he  had 
the  presence  of  mind  to  restrain  himself,  partly  at 
least. 

"I  have  my  orders  from  the  Keeper  of  the  Seals  to 
eff^ect  the  apprehension  of  Monsieur  de  Lesperon,  and 
to  deliver  him  up,  alive  or  dead,  at  Toulouse.  So  that 
I  do  this,  the  manner  of  it  is  my  own  afi^air,  and  who 
presumes  to  criticize  my  methods  censoriously  im- 
pugns my  honour  and  affronts  me.  And  who  affronts 
me,  monsieur,  be  he  whosoever  he  may  be,  renders 
me  satisfaction.  I  beg  that  you  will  bear  that  circum- 
stance in  mind." 

His  moustaches  bristled  as  he  spoke,  and  altogether 
his  air  was  very  fierce  and  trucuJeuL  For  a  moment  I 


I 


THE  KING'S  COMMISSIONER  143 

trembled  for  him.  But  the  Count  evidently  thought 
better  of  it  than  to  provoke  a  quarrel,  particularly  one 
in  which  he  would  be  manifestly  in  the  wrong.  King's 
Commissioner  though  he  might  be.  There  was  an 
exchange  of  questionable  compliments  betwixt  the 
officer  and  the  Count,  whereafter,  to  avoid  further  un- 
pleasantness, Castelroux  conducted  me  to  a  private 
room,  where  we  took  our  meal  in  gloomy  silence. 

It  was  not  until  an  hour  later,  when  we  were  again 
in  the  saddle  and  upon  the  last  stage  of  our  jour- 
ney, that  I  offered  Castelroux  an  explanation  of  my 
seemingly  mad  attack  upon  Chatellerault. 

"You  have  done  a  very  rash  and  unwise  thing, 
monsieur,"  he  had  commented  regretfully,  and  it  was 
in  answer  to  this  that  I  poured  out  the  whole  story.  I 
had  determined  upon  this  course  while  we  were  sup- 
ping, for  Castelroux  was  now  my  only  hope,  and  as 
we  rode  beneath  the  stars  of  that  September  night  I 
made  known  to  him  my  true  identity. 

I  told  him  that  Chatellerault  knew  me,  and  I  in- 
formed him  that  a  wager  lay  between  us  —  withhold- 
ing the  particulars  of  its  nature  —  which  had  brought 
me  into  Languedoc  and  into  the  position  wherein  he 
had  found  and  arrested  me.  At  first  he  hesitated  to 
believe  me,  but  when  at  last  I  had  convinced  him  by 
the  vehemence  of  my  assurances  as  much  as  by  the 
assurances  themselves,  he  expressed  such  opinions  of 
the  Comte  de  Chatellerault  as  made  my  heart  go  out 
to  him. 

"You  see,  my  dear  Castelroux,  that  you  are  now  my 
last  hope,"  I  said. 

"A  forlorn  one,  my  poor  gentleman!"  he  groaned. 

"Nay,  that  need  not  be.   My  intendant  Rodenard 


144  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

and  some  twenty  of  my  servants  should  be  somewhere 
betwixt  this  and  Paris.  Let  them  be  sought  for,  mon- 
sieur, and  let  us  pray  God  that  they  be  still  in  Langue- 
doc  and  may  be  found  in  time." 

"It  shall  be  done,  monsieur,  I  promise  you,"  he 
answered  me  solemnly.  "But  I  implore  you  not  to 
hope  too  much  from  it.  Chatellerault  has  it  in  his 
power  to  act  promptly,  and  you  may  depend  that  he 
will  waste  no  time  after  what  has  passed." 

"Still,  we  may  have  two  or  three  days,  and  in  those 
days  you  must  do  what  you  can,  my  friend." 

"You  may  depend  upon  me,"  he  promised. 

"And  meanwhile,  Castelroux,"  said  I,  "you  will 
say  no  word  of  this  to  any  one." 

That  assurance  also  he  gave  me,  and  presently  the 
lights  of  our  destination  gleamed  out  to  greet  us. 

That  night  I  lay  in  a  dank  and  gloomy  cell  of  the 
prison  of  Toulouse,  with  never  a  hope  to  bear  me 
company  during  those  dark,  wakeful  hours. 

A  dull  rage  was  in  my  soul  as  I  thought  of  my 
position,  for  it  had  not  needed  Castelroux's  recom- 
mendation to  restrain  me  from  building  false  hopes 
upon  hischancesof  finding  Rodenard  and  my  followers 
in  time  to  save  me.  Some  little  ray  of  consolation  I 
culled,  perhaps,  from  my  thoughts  of  Roxalanne.  Out 
of  the  gloom  of  my  cell  my  fancy  fashioned  her  sweet 
girl  face  and  stamped  it  with  a  look  of  gentle  pity,  of 
infinite  sorrow  for  me  and  for  the  hand  she  had  had  in 
bringing  me  to  this. 

That  she  loved  me  I  was  assured,  and  I  swore  that  if 
I  lived  I  would  win  her  yet,  in  spite  of  every  obstacle 
that  I  myself  had  raised  for  my  undoing. 


CHAPTER  XII 
THE  TRIBUNAL  OF  TOULOUSE 

I  HAD  hoped  to  lie  some  days  in  prison  before  being 
brought  to  trial,  and  that  during  those  days  Castel- 
roux  might  have  succeeded  in  discovering  those  who 
could  witness  to  my  identity.  Conceive,  therefore, 
something  of  my  dismay  when  on  the  morrow  I  was 
summoned  at  an  hour  before  noon  to  go  present  my- 
self to  my  judges. 

From  the  prison  to  the  Palace  I  was  taken  in  chains 
Jike  any  thief —  for  the  law  demanded  this  indignity 
to  be  borne  by  one  charged  with  the  crimes  they  im- 
puted to  me.  The  distance  was  but  short,  yet  I  found 
it  over-long,  which  is  not  wonderful  considering  that 
the  people  stopped  to  line  up  as  I  went  by  and  to  cast 
upon  me  a  shower  of  opprobrious  derision  —  for 
Toulouse  was  a  very  faithful  and  loyal  city.  It  was 
within  some  two  hundred  yards  of  the  Palace  steps 
that  I  suddenly  beheld  a  face  in  the  crowd,  at  the 
sight  of  which  I  stood  still  in  my  amazement.  This 
earned  me  a  stab  in  the  back  from  the  butt-end  of  the 
pike  of  one  of  my  guards. 

"What  ails  you  now.^"'  quoth  the  man  irritably. 
"Forward,  Monsieur  le  traitre!" 

I  moved  on,  scarce  remarking  the  fellow's  rough- 
ness; my  eyes  were  still  upon  that  face  —  the  white, 
piteous  face  of  Roxalanne.  I  smiled  reassurance  and 
encouragement,  but  even  as  I  smiled  the  horror  in  her 
countenance  seemed  to  increase.  Then,  as  I  passed  on. 


145  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

she  vanished  from  my  sight,  and  I  was  left  to  con- 
jecture the  motives  that  had  occasioned  her  return 
to  Toulouse.  Had  the  message  that  Marsac  would 
yesterday  have  conveyed  to  her  caused  her  to  retrace 
her  steps  that  she  might  be  near  me  in  my  extremity; 
or  had  some  weightier  reason  influenced  her  return? 
Did  she  hope  to  undo  some  of  the  evil  she  had  done? 
Alas,  poor  child!  If  such  were  her  hopes,  I  sorely 
feared  me  they  would  prove  very  idle. 

Of  my  trial  I  should  say  but  little  did  not  the 
exigenciesof  my  story  render  it  necessary  to  say  much. 
Even  now,  across  the  gap  of  years,  my  gorge  rises  at 
the  mockery  which,  in  the  King's  name,  those  gentle- 
men made  of  justice.  I  can  allow  for  the  troubled 
conditions  of  the  times,  and  I  can  realize  how  in  cases 
of  civil  disturbances  and  rebellion  it  may  be  expedient 
to  deal  summarily  with  traitors,  yet  not  all  the  allow- 
ances that  I  can  think  of  would  suffice  to  condone  the 
methods  of  that  tribunal. 

The  trial  was  conducted  in  private  by  the  Keeper  of 
the  Seals  —  a  lean,  wizened  individual,  with  an  air  as 
musty  and  dry  as  that  of  the  parchments  among  which 
he  had  spent  his  days.  He  was  supported  by  six 
judges,  and  on  his  right  sat  the  King's  Commissioner, 
Monsieur  de  Chatellerault  —  the  bruised  condition 
of  whose  countenance  still  advertised  the  fact  that 
we  had  met  but  yesterday. 

Upon  being  asked  my  name  and  place  of  abode,  I 
created  some  commotion  by  answering  boldly  — 

"I  am  the  Sieur  Marcel  de  Saint-Pol,  Marquis  of 
Bardelys,  of  Bardelys  in  Picardy." 

The  President  —  that  is  to  say,  the  Keeper  of  the 
Seals  —  turned  inquiringly   to  Chatellerault.     Tho 


THE  TRIBUNAL  OF  TOULOUSE  147 

Count,  however,  did  no  more  than  smile  and  point  to 
something  written  on  a  paper  that  lay  spread  upon  the 
table.   The  President  nodded. 

"  Monsieur  Rene  de  Lesperon,"  said  he,  "  the  Court 
may  perhaps  not  be  able  to  discriminate  whether  this 
statement  of  yours  is  a  deliberate  attempt  to  misguide 
or  frustrate  the  ends  of  justice,  or  whether,  either  in 
consequence  of  your  wounds  or  as  a  visitation  of  God 
for  your  treason,  you  are  the  victim  of  a  deplorable 
hallucination.  But  the  Court  wishes  you  to  under- 
stand that  it  is  satisfied  of  your  identity.  The  papers 
found  upon  your  person  at  the  time  of  your  arrest,  be- 
sides other  evidence  in  our  power,  remove  all  possi- 
bility of  doubt  in  that  connection.  Therefore,  in  your 
own  interests,  we  implore  you  to  abandon  these  false 
statements,  if  so  be  that  you  are  master  of  your  wits. 
Your  only  hope  of  saving  your  head  must  lie  in  your 
truthfully  answering  our  questions,  and  even  then, 
Monsieur  de  Lesperon,  the  hope  that  we  hold  out  to 
you  is  so  slight  as  to  be  no  hope  at  all." 

There  was  a  pause,  during  which  the  other  judges 
nodded  their  heads  in  sage  approval  of  their  President's 
words.  For  myself,  I  kept  silent,  perceiving  how  Httle 
it  could  avail  me  to  continue  to  protest,  and  awaited 
his  next  question. 

"You  were  arrested,  monsieur,  at  the  Chateau  de 
Lavedan  two  nights  ago  by  a  company  of  dragoons 
under  the  command  of  Captain  de  Castelroux.  Is  that 
so?" 

"It  is  so,  monsieur." 

"And  at  the  time  of  your  arrest,  upon  being  appre- 
hended as  Rene  de  Lesperon,  you  offered  no  repudia- 
tion of  the  identity;  on  the  contrary,  when  Monsieur 


148  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

de  Castelroux  called  for  Monsieur  de  Lesperon,  you 
stepped  forward  and  acknowledged  that  you  were  he." 

"Pardon,  monsieur.  What  I  acknowledged  was 
that  I  was  known  by  that  name." 

The  President  chuckled  evilly,  and  his  satellites 
smiled  in  polite  reflection  of  his  mood. 

"This  acute  differentiating  is  peculiar.  Monsieur  de 
Lesperon,  to  persons  of  unsound  mental  condition," 
said  he.  "I  am  afraid  that  it  will  serve  little  purpose. 
A  man  is  generally  known  by  his  name,  is  he  not?"  I 
did  not  answer  him.  "Shall  we  call  Monsieur  de 
Castelroux  to  confirm  what  I  have  said?" 

"It  is  not  necessary.  Since  you  allow  that  I  may 
have  said  I  was  known  by  the  name,  but  refuse  to 
recognize  the  distinction  between  that  and  a  state- 
ment that  'Lesperon'  is  my  name,  it  would  serve  no 
purpose  to  summon  the  Captain." 

The  President  nodded,  and  with  that  the  point  was 
dismissed,  and  he  proceeded  as  calmly  as  though 
there  never  had  been  any  question  of  my  identity. 

"You  are  charged.  Monsieur  de  Lesperon,  with 
high  treason  in  its  most  virulent  and  malignant  form. 
You  are  accused  of  having  borne  arms  against  His 
Majesty.   Have  you  anything  to  say?" 

"I  have  to  say  that  it  is  false,  monsieur;  that  His 
Majesty  has  no  more  faithful  or  loving  subject  than 
am  I." 

The  President  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  a  shade 
of  annoyance  crossed  his  face. 

"If  you  are  come  here  for  no  other  purpose  than  to 
deny  the  statements  that  I  make,  I  am  afraid  that  we 
are  but  wasting  time,"  he  cried  testily.  "If  you  desire 
it,  I  can  summon  Monsieur  de  Castelroux  to  swear 


I 


THE  TRIBUNAL  OF  TOULOUSE  149 

that  at  the  time  of  your  arrest  and  upon  being  charged 
with  the  crime  you  made  no  repudiation  of  that 
charge." 

"Naturally  not,  monsieur,"  I  cried,  somewhat 
heated  by  this  seemingly  studied  ignoring  of  im- 
portant facts,  "because  I  realized  that  it  was  Mon- 
sieur de  Castelroux's  mission  to  arrest  and  not  to 
judge  me.  Monsieur  de  Castelroux  was  an  officer,  not 
a  Tribunal,  and  to  have  denied  this  or  that  to  him 
would  have  been  so  much  waste  of  breath." 

"Ah!  Very  nimble;  very  nimble,  in  truth.  Mon- 
sieur de  Lesperon,  but  scarcely  convincing.  We  will 
proceed.  You  are  charged  with  having  taken  part 
in  several  of  the  skirmishes  against  the  armies  of 
Marshals  de  Schomberg  and  La  Force,  and  finally, 
with  having  been  in  close  attendance  upon  Monsieur 
de  Montmorency  at  the  battle  of  Castelnaudary. 
What  have  you  to  say?" 

"That  it  is  utterly  untrue." 

"Yet  your  name,  monsieur,  is  on  a  list  found  among 
the  papers  in  the  captured  baggage  of  Monsieur  le 
Due  de  Montmorency." 

"No,  monsieur,"  I  denied  stoutly,  "it  is  not." 

The  President  smote  the  table  a  blow  that  scattered 
a  flight  of  papers. 

"Par  la  mort  Dieu!"  he  roared,  with  a  most  in- 
decent exhibition  of  temper  in  one  so  placed.  "  I  have 
had  enough  of  your  contradictions.  You  forget,  mon- 
sieur, your  position  — " 

"At  least,"  I  broke  in  harshly,  "no  less  than  you 
forget  yours." 

The  Keeper  of  the  Seals  gasped  for  breath  at  that, 
and  his  fellow-judges  murmured  angrily  amongst 


!50  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

themselves.  Chatellerault  maintained  his  sardonic 
smile,  but  permitted  himself  to  utter  no  word. 

"I  would,  gentlemen,"  I  criad,  addressing  them  all, 
"that  His  Majesty  were  here  to  see  how  you  conduct 
your  trials  and  defile  his  Courts.  As  for  you.  Monsieur 
le  President,  you  violate  the  sanctity  of  your  office  in 
giving  way  to  anger;  it  is  a  thing  unpardonable  in  a 
judge.  I  have  told  you  in  plain  terms,  gentlemen, 
that  I  am  not  this  Rene  de  Lesperon  with  whose  crimes 
you  charge  me.  Yet,  in  spite  of  my  denials,  ignoring 
them,  or  setting  them  down  either  to  a  futile  attempt 
at  defence  or  to  an  hallucination  of  which  you  suppose 
me  the  victim,  you  proceed  to  lay  those  crimes  to  my 
charge,  and  when  I  deny  your  charges  you  speak  of 
proofs  that  can  only  apply  to  another. 

"How  shall  the  name  of  Lesperon  having  been 
found  among  the  Duke  of  Montmorency's  papers 
convict  me  of  treason,  since  I  tell  you  that  I  am  not 
Lesperon  ^  Had  you  the  slightest,  the  remotest  sense 
of  your  high  duty,  messieurs,  you  would  ask  me 
rather  to  explain  how,  if  what  I  state  be  true,  I  come 
to  be  confounded  with  Lesperon  and  arrested  in  his 
place.  Then,  messieurs,  you  might  seek  to  test  the 
accuracy  of  what  statements  I  may  make;  but  to 
proceed  as  you  are  proceeding  is  not  to  judge  but  to 
murder.  Justice  is  represented  as  a  virtuous  woman 
with  bandaged  eyes,  holding  impartial  scales;  in  your 
hands,  gentlemen,  by  my  soul,  she  is  become  a  very 
harlot  clutching  a  veil." 

Chatellerault's  cynical  smile  grew  broader  as  my 
speech  proceeded  and  stirred  up  the  rancour  in  the 
hearts  of  those  august  gentlemen.  The  Keeper  of  the 
Seals  went  white  and  red  by  turns,  and  when  I  paused 


THE  TRIBUNAL  OF  TOULOUSE  151 

there  was  an  impressive  silence  that  lasted  for  some 
moments.  At  last  the  President  leant  over  to  confer 
in  a  whisper  with  Chatellerault.  Then,  in  a  voice 
forcedly  calm  —  like  the  calm  of  Nature  when  thun- 
der is  brewing  —  he  asked  me  — 

"Who  do  you  insist  that  you  are,  monsieur?" 

"Once  already  have  I  told  you,  and  I  venture  to 
think  that  mine  is  a  name  not  easily  forgotten.  I  am 
the  Sieur  Marcel  de  Saint-Pol,  Marquis  of  Bardelys, 
of  Bardelys  in  Picardy." 

A  cunning  grin  parted  his  thin  lips. 

"Have  you  any  witnesses  to  identify  you?" 

"Hundreds,  monsieur!"  I  answered  eagerly,  seeing 
salvation  already  within  my  grasp. 

"Name  some  of  them." 

"  I  will  name  one  —  one  whose  word  you  will  not 
dare  to  doubt." 

"That  is?" 

"His  Majesty  the  King.  I  am  told  that  he  is  on  his 
way  to  Toulouse,  and  I  but  ask,  messieurs,  that  you 
await  his  arrival  before  going  further  with  my  trial." 

"Is  there  no  other  witness  of  whom  you  can  think, 
monsieur?  Some  witness  that  might  be  produced 
more  readily.  For  if  you  can,  indeed,  establish  the 
identity  you  claim,  why  should  you  languish  in  prison 
for  some  weeks?" 

His  voice  was  soft  and  oily.  The  anger  had  all  de- 
parted out  of  it,  which  I  —  Hke  a  fool  —  imagined  to 
be  due  to  my  mention  of  the  King. 

"  My  friends,  Monsieur  le  Garde  des  Sceaux,  are  all 
either  in  Paris  or  in  His  Majesty's  train,  and  so  not 
likely  to  be  here  before  him.  There  is  my  intendant, 
Rodenard,  and  there  are  my  servants  —  some  twenty 


15a  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

of  them  —  who  may  perhaps  be  still  in  Languedoc, 
and  for  whom  I  would  entreat  you  to  seek.  Them  you 
might  succeed  in  finding  within  a  few  days  if  they  have 
not  yet  determined  to  return  to  Paris  in  the  belief  that 
1  am  dead." 

He  stroked  his  chin  meditatively,  his  eyes  raised  to 
the  sunlit  dome  of  glass  overhead. 

"Ah  —  h!"  he  gasped.  It  was  a  long-drawn  sigh  of 
regret,  of  conclusion,  or  of  weary  impatience.  "  There 
is  no  one  in  Toulouse  who  will  swear  to  your  identity, 
monsieur?"  he  asked. 

"  I  am  afraid  there  is  not,"  I  replied.  "  I  know  of  no 
one." 

As  I  uttered  those  words  the  President's  counte- 
nance changed  as  abruptly  as  if  he  had  flung  off  a 
mask.  From  soft  and  cat-like  that  he  had  been  during 
the  past  few  moments,  he  grew  of  a  sudden  savage  as 
a  tiger.  He  leapt  to  his  feet,  his  face  crimson,  his  eyes 
seeming  to  blaze,  and  the  words  he  spoke  came  now 
in  a  hot,  confused,  and  almost  incoherent  torrent. 

"Miserable!"  he  roared,  "out  of  your  own  mouth 
have  you  convicted  yourself.  And  to  think  that  you 
should  have  stood  there  and  wasted  the  time  of  this 
Court  —  His  Majesty's  time  —  with  your  damnable 
falsehoods!  What  purpose  did  you  think  to  serve  by 
delaying  your  doom?  Did  you  imagine  that  haply, 
whilst  we  sent  to  Paris  for  your  witnesses,  the  King 
might  grow  weary  of  justice,  and  in  some  fit  of 
clemency  announce  a  general  pardon?  Such  things 
have  been  known,  and  it  may  be  that  in  your  cunning 
you  played  for  such  a  gain  based  upon  such  a  hope. 
But  justice,  fool,  is  not  to  be  cozened.  Had  you,  in- 
deed, been  Bardelys,  you  had  seen  that  here  in  thi^ 


THE  TRIBUNAL  OF  TOULOUSE  153 

court  sits  a  gentleman  who  is  very  intimate  with  him. 
He  is  there,  monsieur;  that  is  Monsieur  le  Comte  de 
Chatellerault,  of  whom  perhaps  you  may  have  heard. 
Yet,  when  I  ask  you  whether  in  Toulouse  there  is  any 
one  who  can  bear  witness  to  your  identity,  you  answer 
me  that  you  know  of  no  one.  I  will  waste  no  more 
time  with  you,  I  promise  you." 

He  flung  himself  back  into  his  chair  like  a  man 
exhausted,  and  mopped  his  brow  with  a  great  kerchief 
which  he  had  drawn  from  his  robes.  His  fellow-judges 
laid  their  heads  together,  and  with  smiles  and  nods, 
winks  and  leers,  they  discussed  and  admired  the 
miraculous  subtlety  and  acumen  of  this  Solomon. 
Chatellerault  sat,  calmly  smiling,  in  solemn  mock- 
ery. 

For  a  spell  I  was  too  thunderstruck  to  speak,  aghast 
at  this  catastrophe.  Like  a  fool,  indeed,  I  had  tumbled 
into  the  pit  that  had  been  dug  for  me  by  Chatellerault 
—  for  I  never  doubted  that  it  was  of  his  contriving. 
At  last  — 

"My  masters,"  said  I,  "these  conclusions  may 
appear  to  you  most  plausible,  but,  believe  me,  they 
are  fallacious.  I  am  perfectly  acquainted  with  Mon- 
sieur de  Chatellerault,  and  he  with  me,  and  if  he  were 
to  speak  the  truth  and  play  the  man  and  the  gentle- 
man for  once,  he  would  tell  you  that  I  am,  indeed, 
Bardelys.  But  Monsieur  le  Comte  has  ends  of  his  own 
to  serve  in  sending  me  to  my  doom.  It  is  in  a  sense 
through  his  agency  that  I  am  at  present  in  this 
position,  and  that  I  have  been  confounded  with  Les- 
peron.  What,  then,  could  it  have  availed  me  to  have 
made  appeal  to  him  ?  And  yet.  Monsieur  le  President, 
he  was  born  a  gentleman,  and  he  may  still  retain  some 


154  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

notion  of  honour.  Ask  him,  sir  —  ask  him  point-blank, 
whether  I  am  or  not  Marcel  de  Bardelys." 

The  firmness  of  my  tones  created  some  impres- 
sion upon  those  feeble  minds.  Indeed,  the  President 
went  so  far  as  to  turn  an  interrogative  glance  upon 
the  Count.  But  Chatellerault,  supremely  master  of 
the  situation,  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  smiled  a 
pitying,  long-suffering  smile. 

"Must  I  really  answer  such  a  question,  Monsieur  le 
President?"  he  inquired  in  a  voice  and  with  a  manner 
that  clearly  implied  how  low  would  be  his  estimate  of 
the  President's  intelligence  if  he  were,  indeed,  con- 
strained to  do  so. 

"  But  no.  Monsieur  le  Comte,"  replied  the  President 
with  sudden  haste,  and  in  scornful  rejection  of  the  idea. 
"There  is  no  necessity  that  you  should  answer." 

"But  the  question,  Monsieur  le  President!"  I 
thundered,  my  hand  outstretched  towards  Chatelle- 
rault. "Ask  him  —  if  you  have  any  sense  of  your  duty 
—  ask  him  am  I  not  Marcel  de  Bardelys." 

"Silence!"  blazed  the  President  back  at  me.  "You 
shall  not  fool  us  any  longer,  you  nimble-witted  Har!" 

My  head  drooped.  This  coward  had,  indeed, 
shattered  my  last  hope. 

"Some  day,  monsieur,"  I  said  very  quietly,  "I 
promise  you  that  your  behaviour  and  these  gratuitous 
insults  shall  cost  you  your  position.  Pray  God  they  do 
not  cost  you  also  your  head!" 

My  words  they  treated  as  one  might  treat  the 
threats  of  a  child.  That  I  should  have  had  the 
temerity  to  utter  them  did  but  serve  finally  to  decide 
my  doom,  if,  indeed,  anything  had  been  wanting. 

With  many  epithets  of  opprobrium,  such  as  are 


THE  TRIBUNAL  OF  TOULOUSE  155 

applied  to  malefactors  of  the  lowest  degree,  they  passed 
sentence  of  death  upon  me,  and  with  drooping  spirits, 
giving  myself  up  for  lost  and  assured  that  I  should  be 
led  to  the  block  before  many  hours  were  sped,  I 
permitted  them  to  reconduct  me  through  the  streets 
of  Toulouse  to  my  prison. 

I  could  entertain  you  at  length  upon  my  sensations 
as  I  walked  between  my  guards,  a  man  on  the  thresh- 
old of  eternity,  with  hundreds  of  men  and  women 
gaping  at  me  —  men  and  women  who  would  live  for 
years  to  gape  upon  many  another  wretch  in  my 
pKDsition.  The  sun  shone  with  a  brilliance  that  to  such 
eyes  as  mine  was  a  very  mockery.  Thus  would  it 
shine  on  through  centuries,  and  light  many  another 
unfortunate  to  the  scaffold.  The  very  sky  seemed 
pitiless  in  the  intensity  of  its  cobalt.  Unfeeling  I 
deemed  the  note  that  everywhere  was  struck  by  man 
and  Nature,  so  discordant  was  it  with  my  gloomy  out- 
look. If  you  would  have  food  for  reflection  upon  the 
evanescent  quality  of  life,  upon  the  nothingness  of  man, 
upon  the  empty,  heartless  egoism  implicit  in  human 
nature,  get  yourselves  sentenced  to  death,  and  then 
look  around  you.  With  such  a  force  was  all  this  borne 
in  upon  me,  and  with  such  sufficiency,  that  after  the 
first  pang  was  spent  I  went  near  to  rejoicing  that 
things  were  as  they  were,  and  that  I  was  to  die,  haply 
before  sunset.  It  was  become  such  a  world  as  did  not 
seem  worth  a  man's  while  to  live  in:  a  world  of  vain- 
ness, of  hollowness,  of  meanness,  of  nothing  but  il- 
lusions. The  knowledge  that  I  was  about  to  die,  that 
I  was  about  to  quit  all  this,  seemed  to  have  torn  some 
veil  from  my  eyes,  and  to  have  permitted  me  to 
recognize  the  worthless  quality  of  what  I  left.  Well 


156  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

may  it  be  that  such  are  but  the  thoughts  of  a  man*s 
dying  moments,  whispered  into  his  soul  by  a  merciful 
God  to  predispose  him  for  the  wrench  and  agony  of 
his  passing. 

I  had  been  a  half-hour  in  my  cell  when  the  door  was 
opened  to  admit  Castelroux,  whom  I  had  not  seen 
since  the  night  before.  He  came  to  condole  with  me  in 
my  extremity,  and  yet  to  bid  me  not  utterly  lose  hope. 

"It  is  too  late  to-day  to  carry  out  the  sentence," 
said  he,  "and  as  to-morrow  will  be  Sunday,  you  will 
have  until  the  day  after.  By  then  much  may  betide, 
monsieur.  My  agents  are  everywhere  scouring  the 
province  for  your  servants,  and  let  us  pray  Heaven 
that  they  may  succeed  in  their  search." 

"It  is  a  forlorn  hope.  Monsieur  de  Castelroux,"  I 
sighed,  "  and  I  will  pin  no  faith  to  it  lest  I  suffer  a  dis- 
appointment that  will  embitter  my  last  moments,  and 
perhaps  rob  me  of  some  of  the  fortitude  I  shall  have 
need  of." 

He  answered  me,  nevertheless,  with  words  of  en- 
couragement. No  effort  was  being  spared,  and  if 
Rodenard  and  my  men  were  still  in  Languedoc  there 
was  every  likelihood  that  they  would  be  brought  to 
Toulouse  in  time.  Then  he  added  that  that,  however, 
was  not  the  sole  object  of  his  visit.  A  lady  had  ob- 
tained permission  of  the  Keeper  of  the  Seals  to  visit 
me,  and  she  was  waiting  to  be  admitted. 

"A  lady?"  I  exclaimed,  and  the  thought  of  Roxa- 
lanne  flitted  through  my  mind.  "Mademoiselle  de 
Lavedan?"  I  inquired. 

He  nodded.  "Yes,"  said  he;  then  added,  "She 
seems  in  sore  affliction,  monsieur." 

I  besought  him  to  admit  her  forthwith,  and  pres- 


THE  TRIBUNAL  OF  TOULOUSE  157 

ently  she  came.  Castelroux  closed  the  door  as  he 
withdrew,  and  we  were  left  alone  together.  As  she  put 
aside  her  cloak,  and  disclosed  to  me  the  pallor  of  her 
face  and  the  disfiguring  red  about  her  gentle  eyes, 
telling  of  tears  and  sleeplessness,  all  my  own  trouble 
seemed  to  vanish  in  the  contemplation  of  her  affliction. 

We  stood  a  moment  confronting  each  other  with  no 
word  spoken.  Then,  dropping  her  glance,  and  ad- 
vancing a  step,  in  a  faltering,  hesitating  manner  — 

"Monsieur,  monsieur,"  she  murmured  in  a  suffo- 
cating voice. 

In  a  bound  I  was  beside  her,  and  I  had  gathered  her 
in  my  arms,  her  little  brown  head  against  my  shoulder. 

"Roxalanne!"  I  whispered  as  soothingly  as  I 
might  —  "Roxalanne!" 

But  she  struggled  to  be  free  of  my  embrace. 

"Let  me  go,  monsieur,"  she  pleaded,  a  curious 
shrinking  in  her  very  voice.  "  Do  not  touch  me,  mon- 
sieur.  You  do  not  know  —  you  do  not  know." 

For  answer,  I  enfolded  her  more  tightly  still. 

"But  I  do  know,  little  one,"  I  whispered;  "and  I 
even  understand." 

At  that,  her  struggles  ceased  upon  the  instant,  and 
she  seemed  to  lie  limp  and  helpless  in  my  arms. 

"You  know,  monsieur,"  she  questioned  me  —  "you 
know  that  I  betrayed  you?" 

"Yes,"  I  answered  simply. 

"And  you  can  forgive  me?  I*am  sending  you  to 
your  death  and  you  have  no  reproaches  for  me!  Oh, 
monsieur,  it  will  kill  me!" 

"Hush,  child!"  I  whispered.  "What  reproaches 
can  I  have  for  you?  I  know  the  motives  that  impelled 
you." 


I5S  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

"Not  altogether,  monsieur;  you  cannot  know  them. 
I  loved  you,  monsieur.  I  do  love  you,  monsieur.  Oh ! 
this  is  not  a  time  to  consider  words.  If  I  am  bold  and 
unmaidenly,  I  —  I  — " 

"Neither  bold  nor  unmaidenly,  but  —  oh,  the 
sweetest  damsel  in  all  France,  my  Roxalanne!"  I 
broke  in,  coming  to  her  aid.  "  Mine  was  a  leprous,  sin- 
ful soul,  child,  when  I  came  into  Languedoc.  I  had  no 
faith  in  any  human  good,  and  I  looked  as  little  for  an 
honest  man  or  a  virtuous  woman  as  one  looks  for 
honey  in  a  nettle.  I  was  soured,  and  my  life  had  hardly 
been  such  a  life  as  it  was  meet  to  bring  into  contact 
with  your  own.  Then,  among  the  roses  at  Lavedan,  in 
your  dear  company,  Roxalanne,  it  seemed  that  some 
of  the  good,  some  of  the  sweetness,  some  of  the  purity 
about  you  were  infused  anew  into  my  heart.  I  be- 
came young  again,  and  I  seemed  oddly  cleansed.  In 
that  hour  of  my  rejuvenation  I  loved  you,'Roxalanne." 

Her  face  had  been  raised  to  mine  as  I  spoke.  There 
came  now  a  flutter  of  the  eyelids,  a  curious  smile 
about  the  lips.  Then  her  head  drooped  again  and  was 
laid  against  my  breast;  a  sigh  escaped  her,  and  she 
began  to  weep  softly. 

"Nay,  Roxalanne,  do  not  fret.  Come,  child,  it  is 
not  your  way  to  be  weak." 

"I  have  betrayed  you!"  she  moaned.  "I  am  send- 
ing you  to  your  death!" 

"I  understand,  I  understand,"  I  answered,  smooth- 
ing her  brown  hair. 

"Not  quite,  monsieur.  I  loved  you  so,  monsieur, 
that  you  can  have  no  thought  of  how  I  suflfered  that 
morning  when  Mademoiselle  de  Marsac  came  to  La- 
v6dan. 


I 


THE  TRIBUNAL  OF  TOULOUSE  159 

"At  first  it  was  but  the  pain  of  thinking  that  —  that 
I  was  about  to  lose  you;  that  you  were  to  go  out  of  my 
life,  and  that  I  should  see  you  no  more  —  you  whom  I 
had  enshrined  so  in  my  heart. 

"  I  called  myself  a  little  fool  that  morning  for  having 
dreamed  that  you  had  come  to  care  for  me;  my  vanity 
I  thought  had  deluded  me  into  imagining  that  your 
manner  towards  me  had  a  tenderness  that  spoke  of 
affection.  I  was  bitter  with  myself,  and  I  suffered  — 
oh,  so  much!  Then  later,  when  I  was  in  the  rose 
garden,  you  came  to  me. 

"You  remember  how  you  seized  me,  and  how  by 
your  manner  you  showed  me  that  it  was  not  vanity 
alone  had  misled  me.  You  had  fooled  me,  I  thought; 
even  in  that  hour  I  imagined  you  were  fooling  me;  you 
made  light  of  me;  and  my  sufferings  were  naught  to 
you  so  that  I  might  give  you  some  amusement  to  pass 
the  leisure  and  monotony  of  your  sojourn  with  us." 

"Roxalanne  —  my  poor  Roxalanne!"  I  whispered. 

"Then  my  bitterness  and  sorrow  all  turned  to  anger 
against  you.  You  had  broken  my  heart,  and  I  thought 
that  you  had  done  it  wantonly.  For  that  I  burned  to 
punish  you.  Ah!  and  not  only  that,  perhaps.  I  think, 
too,  that  some  jealousy  drove  me  on.  You  had  wooed 
and  slighted  me,  yet  you  had  made  me  love  you,  and 
if  you  were  not  for  me  I  swore  you  should  be  for  no 
other.  And  so,  while  my  madness  endured,  I  quitted 
Lavedan,  and  telling  my  father  that  I  was  going  to 
Auch,  to  his  sister's  house,  I  came  to  Toulouse  and 
betrayed  you  to  the  Keeper  of  the  Seals. 

"Scarce  was  the  thing  done  than  I  beheld  the  horror 
of  it,  and  I  hated  myself.  In  my  despair,  I  abandoned 
all  idea  of  pursuing  the  journey  to  Auch,  but  turned 


l6o  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

and  made  my  way  back  in  haste,  hoping  that  I  might 
still  come  to  warn  you.  But  at  Grenade  I  met  you  al- 
ready in  charge  of  the  soldiers.  At  Grenade,  too,  I 
learnt  the  truth  —  that  you  were  not  Lesperon.  Can 
you  not  guess  something  of  my  anguish  then  ?  Already 
loathing  my  act,  and  beside  myself  for  having  betrayed 
you,  think  into  what  despair  I  was  plunged  by  Mon- 
sieur de  Marsac's  intimation. 

"Then  I  understood  that  for  reasons  of  your  own 
you  had  concealed  your  identity.  You  were  not, 
perhaps,  betrothed;  indeed,  I  remembered  then  how 
solemnly  you  had  sworn  that  you  were  not;  and  so 
I  bethought  me  that  your  vows  to  me  may  have 
been  sincere  and  such  as  a  maid  might  honourably 
listen  to." 

"They  were,  Roxalanne!  they  were!"  1  cried. 

But  she  continued  — 

"That  you  had  Mademoiselle  de  Marsac's  portrait 
was  something  that  I  could  not  explain;  but  then  I 
hear  that  you  had  also  Lesperon's  papers  upon  you,  so 
that  you  may  have  become  possessed  of  the  one  with 
the  others.    And  now,  monsieur — " 

She  ceased,  and  there  against  my  breast  she  lay 
weeping  and  weeping  in  her  bitter  passion  of  regret, 
until  it  seemed  to  me  she  would  never  regain  her  self- 
control. 

"It  has  been  all  my  fault,  Roxalanne,"  said  I,  "and 
if  I  am  to  pay  the  price  they  are  exacting,  it  will  be 
none  too  high.  I  embarked  upon  a  dastardly  business, 
which  brought  me  to  Languedoc  under  false  colours. 
I  wish,  indeed,  that  I  had  told  you  when  first  the  im- 
pulse to  tell  you  came  upon  me.  Afterwards  it  grew 
impossible." 


THE  TRIBUNAL  OF  TOULOUSE  i6i 

"Tell  me  now,"  she  begged.  "Tell  me  who  you 
are." 

Sorely  was  I  tempted  to  respond.  Almost  was  I  on 
the  point  of  doing  so,  when  suddenly  the  thought  of 
how  she  might  shrink  from  me,  of  how,  even  then,  she 
might  come  to  think  that  I  had  but  simulated  love  for 
her  for  infamous  purposes  of  gain,  restrained  and 
silenced  me.  During  the  few  hours  of  life  that  might 
be  left  me  I  would  at  least  be  lord  and  master  of  her 
heart.  When  I  was  dead  —  for  I  had  little  hope  of 
Castelroux's  efforts  —  it  would  matter  less,  and  per- 
haps because  I  was  dead  she  would  be  merciful. 

" I  cannot,  Roxalanne.  Not  even  now.  It  is  too  vile! 
If —  if  they  carry  out  the  sentence  on  Monday,  I  shall 
leave  a  letter  for  you,  telling  you  everything." 

She  shuddered,  and  a  sob  escaped  her.  From  my 
identity  her  mind  fled  back  to  the  more  important 
matter  of  my  fate. 

"They  will  not  carry  it  out,  monsieur!  Oh,  they 
will  not!  Say  that  you  can  defend  yourself,  that  you 
are  not  the  man  they  believe  you  to  be!" 

"We  are  in  God's  hands,  child.  It  may  be  that  I 
shall  save  myself  yet.  If  I  do,  I  shall  come  straight  to 
you,  and  you  shall  know  all  that  there  is  to  know. 
But,  remember,  child"  —  and  raising  her  face  in  my 
hands,  I  looked  down  into  the  blue  of  her  tearful  eyes 
—  "remember,  little  one,  that  in  one  thing  I  have 
been  true  and  honourable,  and  influenced  by  nothing 
but  my  heart  —  in  my  wooing  of  you.  I  love  you, 
Roxalanne,  with  all  my  soul,  and  if  I  should  die  you 
are  the  only  thing  in  all  this  world  that  I  experience  a 
regret  at  leaving." 

"I  do  believe  it;  I  do,  indeed.   Nothing  can  ever 


102  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

alter  my  belief  again.  Will  you  not,  then,  tell  me  who 
you  are,  and  what  is  this  thing,  which  you  call  dis- 
honourable, that  brought  you  into  Languedoc?" 

A  moment  again  I  pondered.  Then  I  shook  my  head. 

"Wait,  child,"  said  I;  and  she,  obedient  to  my 
wishes,  asked  no  more. 

It  was  the  second  time  that  I  neglected  a  favourable 
opportunity  of  making  that  confession,  and  as  I  had 
regretted  having  allowed  the  first  occasion  to  pass  un- 
profited,  so  was  I,  and  still  more  poignantly,  to  regret 
this  second  silence. 

A  little  while  she  stayed  with  me  yet,  and  I  sought 
to  instil  some  measure  of  comfort  into  her  soul.  I 
spoke  of  the  hopes  that  I  based  upon  Castelroux's 
finding  friends  to  recognize  me  —  hopes  that  were 
passing  slender.  And  she,  poor  child,  sought  also  to 
cheer  me  and  give  me  courage. 

"If  only  the  King  were  here ! "  she  sighed.  "I  would 
go  to  him,  and  on  my  knees  I  would  plead  for  your  en- 
largement. But  they  say  he  is  no  nearer  than  Lyons, 
and  I  could  not  hope  to  get  there  and  back  by  Monday. 
I  will  go  to  the  Keeper  of  the  Seals  again,  monsieur, 
and  I  will  beg  him  to  be  merciful,  and  at  least  to  delay 
the  —  sentence." 

I  did  not  discourage  her;  I  did  not  speak  of  the 
futility  of  such  a  step.  But  I  begged  her  to  remain  in 
Toulouse  until  Monday,  that  she  might  visit  me  again 
before  the  end,  if  the  end  were  to  become  inevitable. 

Then  Castelroux  came  to  reconduct  her,  and  we 
parted.  But  she  left  me  a  great  consolation,  a  great 
strengthening  comfort.  If  I  were  destined,  indeed,  to 
walk  to  the  scaffold,  it  seemed  that  I  could  do  it  with 
a  better  grace  and  a  gladder  courage  now. 


CHAPTER  XIII 
THE  ELEVENTH  HOUR 

CASTELROUX  visited  me  upon  the  following 
morning,  but  he  brought  no  news  that  might  be 
accounted  encouraging.  None  of  his  messengers  were 
yet  returned,  nor  had  any  sent  word  that  they  were 
upon  the  trail  of  my  followers.  My  heart  sank  a  little, 
and  such  hope  as  I  still  fostered  was  fast  perishing. 
Indeed,  so  imminent  did  my  doom  appear  and  so  un- 
avoidable, that  later  in  the  day  I  asked  for  pen  and 
paper  that  I  might  make  an  attempt  at  setting  my 
earthly  affairs  to  rights.  Yet  when  the  writing  ma- 
terials were  brought  me,  I  wrote  not.  I  sat  instead 
with  the  feathered  end  of  my  quill  between  my  teeth, 
and  thus  pondered  the  matter  of  the  disposal  of  my 
Picardy  estates. 

Coldly  I  weighed  the  wording  of  the  wager  and  the 
events  that  had  transpired,  and  I  came  at  length  to 
the  conclusion  that  Chatellerault  could  not  be  held  to 
have  the  least  claim  upon  my  lands.  That  he  had 
cheated  at  the  very  outset,  as  I  have  earher  shown, 
was  of  less  account  than  that  he  had  been  instru- 
mental in  violently  hindering  me. 

I  took  at  last  the  resolve  to  indite  a  full  memoir  of 
the  transaction,  and  to  request  Castelroux  to  see  that 
it  was  delivered  to  the  King  himself.  Thus  not  only 
would  justice  be  done,  but  I  should  —  though  tardily 
—  be  even  with  the  Count.  No  doubt  he  relied  upon 
his  power  to  make  a  thorough  search  for  such  papers 


1^4  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

as  I  might  leave,  and  to  destroy  everything  that  might 
afford  indication  of  my  true  identity.  But  he  had  not 
counted  upon  the  good  feeling  that  had  sprung  up  be- 
twixt the  little  Gascon  captain  and  me,  nor  yet  upon 
my  having  contrived  to  convince  the  latter  that  I  was, 
indeed,  Bardelys,  and  he  little  dreamt  of  such  a  step  as 
I  was  about  to  take  to  ensure  his  punishment  here- 
after. 

Resolved  at  last,  I  was  commencing  to  write  when 
my  attention  was  arrested  by  an  unusual  sound.  It 
was  at  first  no  more  than  a  murmuring  noise,  as  of  a 
sea  breaking  upon  its  shore.  Gradually  it  grew  in 
volume  and  assumed  the  shape  of  human  voices  raised 
in  lusty  clamour.  Then,  above  the  din  of  the  popu- 
lace, a  gun  boomed  out,  then  another,  and  another. 

I  sprang  up  at  that,  and,  wondering  what  might  be 
toward,  I  crossed  to  my  barred  window  and  stood 
there  listening.  I  overlooked  the  courtyard  of  the  jail, 
and  I  could  see  some  commotion  below,  in  sympathy, 
as  it  were,  with  the  greater  commotion  without. 

Presently,  as  the  populace  drew  nearer,  it  seemed 
to  me  that  the  shouting  was  of  acclamation.  Next  I 
caught  a  blare  of  trumpets,  and,  lastly,  I  was  able  to 
distinguish  above  the  noise,  which  had  now  grown  to 
monstrous  proportions,  the  clattering  hoofs  of  some 
cavalcade  that  was  riding  past  the  prison  doors. 

It  was  borne  in  upon  me  that  some  great  personage 
was  arriving  in  Toulouse,  and  my  first  thought  was  of 
the  King.  At  the  idea  of  such  a  possibility  my  brain 
whirled  and  I  grew  dizzy  with  hope.  The  next  moment 
I  recalled  that  but  last  night  Roxalanne  had  told  me 
that  he  was  no  nearer  than  Lyons,  and  so  I  put  the 
thought  from  me,  and  the  hope  with  it,  for,  travelling 


THE  ELEVENTH  HOUR  165 

in  that  leisurely,  indolent  fashion  that  was  character- 
istic of  his  every  action,  it  would  be  a  miracle  if  His 
Majesty  should  reach  Toulouse  before  the  week  was 
out,  and  this  but  Sunday. 

The  populace  passed  on,  then  seemed  to  halt,  and 
at  last  the  shouts  died  down  on  the  noontide  air.  I 
went  back  to  my  writing,  and  to  wait  until  from  my 
jailer,  when  next  he  should  chance  to  appear,  I  might 
learn  the  meaning  of  that  uproar. 

An  hour  perhaps  went  by,  and  I  had  made  some 
progress  with  my  memoir,  when  my  door  was  opened 
and  the  cheery  voice  of  Castelroux  greeted  me  from 
the  threshold. 

"Monsieur,  I  have  brought  a  friend  to  see  you." 

I  turned  in  my  chair,  and  one  glance  at  the  gentle, 
comely  face  and  the  fair  hair  of  the  young  man  stand- 
ing beside  Castelroux  was  enough  to  bring  me  of  a 
sudden  to  my  feet. 

"Mironsac!"  I  shouted,  and  sprang  towards  him 
with  hands  outstretched. 

But  though  my  joy  was  great  and  my  surprise  pro- 
found, greater  still  was  the  bewilderment  that  in 
Mironsac's  face  I  saw  depicted. 

"Monsieur  de  Bardelys!"  he  exclaimed,  and  a 
hundred  questions  were  contained  in  his  astonished 
eyes. 

"Po'  Cap  de  Diou!"  growled  his  cousin,  "I  was 
well  advised,  it  seems,  to  have  brought  you." 

"But,"  Mironsac  asked  his  cousin,  as  he  took  my 
hands  in  his  own,  "why  did  you  not  tell  me,  Amedee, 
that  it  was  to  Monsieur  le  Marquis  de  Bardelys  that 
you  were  conducting  me?" 

"Would  you  have  had  me  spoil  so  pleasant  a  sur- 
prise?" his  cousin  demanded. 


x66  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

"  Armand,"  said  I,  "never  was  a  man  more  welcome 
than  are  you.  You  are  but  come  in  time  to  save  my 
life." 

And  then,  in  answer  to  his  questions,  I  told  him 
briefly  of  all  that  had  befallen  me  since  that  night  in 
Paris  when  the  wager  had  been  laid,  and  of  how, 
through  the  cunning  silence  of  Chatellerault,  I  was 
now  upon  the  very  threshold  of  the  scaffold.  His 
wrath  burst  forth  at  that,  and  what  he  said  of  the 
Count  did  me  good  to  hear.  At  last  I  stemmed  his 
invective. 

"Let  that  be  for  the  present,  Mironsac,"  I  laughed. 
"You  are  here,  and  you  can  thwart  all  Chatellerault's 
designs  by  witnessing  to  my  identity  before  the  Keeper 
of  the  Seals." 

And  then  ot  a  sudden  a  doubt  closed  like  a  cold 
hand  upon  my  brain.  I  turned  to  Castelroux. 

"  Mon  Dieu ! "  I  cried.  "  What  if  they  were  to  deny 
me  a  fresh  trial?" 

"Deny  it  you!"  he  laughed.  "They  will  not  be 
asked  to  grant  you  one." 

"There  will  be  no  need,"  added  Mironsac.  "I  have 
but  to  tell  the  King — " 

"But,  my  friend,"  I  exclaimed  impatiently,  "I  am 
to  die  in  the  morning!" 

"And  the  King  shall  be  told  to-day  —  now,  at  once. 
I  will  go  to  him." 

I  stared  askance  a  moment;  then  the  thought  of  the 
uproar  that  I  had  heard  recurring  to  me  — 

"Has  the  King  arrived  already?"  I  exclaimed. 

"Naturally,  monsieur.  How  else  do  I  come  to  be 
here?  I  am  in  His  Majesty's  train." 

At  that  I  grew  again  impatient.  I  thought  of  Roxa. 


THE  ELEVENTH  HOUR  167 

lanne  and  of  how  she  must  be  suffering,  and  I  be- 
thought me  that  every  moment  Mironsac  now  re- 
mained in  my  cell  was  another  moment  of  torture  for 
that  poor  child.  So  I  urged  him  to  be  gone  at  once  and 
carry  news  of  my  confinement  to  His  Majesty.  He 
obeyed  me,  and  I  was  left  alone  once  more,  to  pace  up 
and  down  in  my  narrow  cell,  a  prey  to  an  excitement 
such  as  I  should  have  thought  I  had  outlived. 

At  the  end  of  a  half-hour  Castelroux  returned  alone. 

"Well?"  I  cried  the  moment  the  door  opened,  and 
without  giving  him  so  much  as  time  to  enter.  "What 
news?" 

"Mironsac  tells  me  that  His  Majesty  is  more  over- 
wrought than  he  has  ever  seen  him.  You  are  to  come 
to  the  Palace  at  once.   I  have  an  order  here  from  the 

We  went  in  a  coach,  and  with  all  privacy,  for  he  in- 
formed me  that  His  Majesty  desired  the  affair  to 
be  kept  secret,  having  ends  of  his  own  to  serve 
thereby. 

I  was  left  to  wait  some  moments  in  an  ante-chamber, 
whilst  Castelroux  announced  me  to  the  King;  then 
I  was  ushered  into  a  small  apartment,  furnished  very 
sumptuously  in  crimson  and  gold,  and  evidently  set 
apart  for  His  Majesty's  studies  or  devotions.  As  I 
entered,  Louis's  back  was  towards  me.  He  was  stand- 
ing —  a  tall,  spare  figure  in  black  —  leaning  against 
the  frame  of  a  window,  his  head  supported  on  his 
raised  left  arm  and  his  eyes  intent  upon  the  gardens 
below. 

He  remained  so  until  Castelroux  had  withdrawn 
and  the  door  had  closed  again;  then,  turning  suddenly, 
he  confronted  me,  his  back  to  the  light,  so  that  his  face 


l68  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

was  in  a  shadow  that  heightened  its  gloom  and  wonted 
weariness. 

"Voila,  Monsieur  de  Bardelys!"  was  his  greeting, 
and  unfriendly.  "See  the  pass  to  which  your  dis- 
obedience of  my  commands  has  brought  you." 

"I  would  submit.  Sire,"  I  answered,  "that  I  have 
been  brought  to  it  by  the  incompetence  of  Your 
Majesty's  judges  and  the  ill-will  of  others  whom  Your 
Majesty  honours  with  too  great  a  confidence,  rather 
than  by  this  same  disobedience  of  mine." 

"The  one  and  the  other,  perhaps,"  he  said  more 
softly.  "Though,  after  all,  they  appear  to  have  had  a 
very  keen  nose  for  a  traitor.  Come,  Bardelys,  confess 
yourself  that." 

"I.?  A  traitor?" 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  laughed  without 
any  conspicuous  mirth. 

"Is  not  a  traitor  one  who  runs  counter  to  the  wishes 
of  his  King?  And  are  you  not,  therefore,  a  traitor, 
whether  they  call  you  Lesperon  or  Bardelys?  But 
there,"  he  ended  more  softly  still,  and  flinging  himself 
into  a  chair  as  he  spoke,  "  I  have  been  so  wearied  since 
you  left  me.  Marcel.  They  have  the  best  intentions  in 
the  world,  these  dullards,  and  some  of  them  love  me, 
even;  but  they  are  tiresome  all.  Even  Chatellerault, 
when  he  has  a  fancy  for  a  jest  —  as  in  your  case  — 
perpetrates  it  with  the  grace  of  a  bear,  the  sprightli- 
ness  of  an  elephant." 

"Jest?"  said  I. 

"You  find  it  no  jest.  Marcel?  Pardieu,  who  shall 
blame  you  ?  He  would  be  a  man  of  unhealthy  humour 
that  could  relish  such  a  pleasantry  as  that  of  being 
sentenced  to  death.    But  tell  me  of  it.    The  whole 


THE  ELEVENTH  HOUR  169 

ttory,  Marcel.  I  have  not  heard  a  story  worth  the 
listening  to  since  —  since  you  left  us." 

"Would  it  please  you,  Sire,  to  send  for  the  Comte 
de  Chatellerault  ere  I  begin?"  I  asked. 

"Chatellerault?  No,  no."  He  shook  his  head 
whimsically.  "Chatellerault  has  had  his  laugh 
already,  and,  like  the  ill-mannered  dog  he  is,  he  has 
kept  it  to  himself.  I  think.  Marcel,  that  it  is  our  turn 
now.  I  have  purposely  sent  Chatellerault  away  that 
he  may  gain  no  notion  of  the  catastrophic  jest  we  are 
preparing  him  in  return." 

The  words  set  me  in  the  very  best  of  humours,  and 
to  that  it  may  be  due  that  presently,  as  I  warmed  to 
my  narrative,  I  lent  it  a  vigour  that  drew  His  Majesty 
out  of  his  wonted  apathy  and  listlessness.  He  leaned 
forward  when  I  told  him  of  my  encounter  with  the 
dragoons  at  Mirepoix,  and  how  first  I  had  committed 
the  false  step  of  representing  myself  to  be  Lesperon. 

Encouraged  by  his  interest,  I  proceeded,  and  I  told 
my  story  with  as  much  piquancy  as  I  was  master  of, 
repressing  only  those  slight  matters  which  might  re- 
flect upon  Monsieur  de  Lavedan's  loyalty,  but  other- 
wise dealing  frankly  with  His  Majesty,  even  down  to 
the  genuineness  of  the  feelings  I  entertained  for  Roxa- 
lanne.  Often  he  laughed,  more  often  still  he  nodded 
approvingly,  in  understanding  and  sympathy,  whilst 
now  and  then  he  purred  his  applause.  But  towards 
the  end,  when  I  came  to  the  matter  of  the  Tribunal  of 
Toulouse,  of  how  my  trial  was  conducted,  and  of  the 
part  played  in  it  by  Chatellerault,  his  face  grew  sat 
and  hard. 

"It  is  true  —  all  this  that  you  tell  me?"  he  criaa 
harshly. 


no  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

"As  true  as  the  Gospels.  If  you  deem  an  oath 
necessary,  Sire,  I  swear  by  my  honour  that  I  have 
uttered  nothing  that  is  false,  and  that,  in  connec- 
tion with  Monsieur  de  Chatellerault,  even  as  I  have 
suppressed  nothing,  so  also  have  I  exaggerated 
nothing." 

"The  dastard!"  he  snapped.  "But  we  will  avenge 
you.  Marcel.   Never  fear  it." 

Then  the  trend  of  his  thoughts  being  changed,  he 
smiled  wearily. 

"  By  my  faith,  you  may  thank  God  every  night  of 
your  worthless  life  that  I  came  so  opportunely  to 
Toulouse,  and  so  may  that  fair  child  whose  beauty 
you  have  limned  with  such  a  lover's  ardour.  Nay, 
never  redden,  Marcel.  What.''  At  your  age,  and  with 
such  a  heavy  score  of  affaires  to  your  credit,  has  it 
been  left  for  a  simple  Languedoc  maiden  to  call  a 
blush  to  your  callous  cheek  .f*  Ma  foi,  they  say  truly 
that  love  is  a  great  regenerator,  a  great  rejuvenator!" 

I  made  him  no  answer  other  than  a  sigh,  for  his 
words  set  me  thinking,  and  with  thought  came  a 
tempering  of  the  gay  humour  that  had  pervaded  me. 
Remarking  this,  and  misreading  it,  he  laughed  out- 
right. 

"There,  Marcel,  never  fear.  We  will  not  be  rigor- 
ous. You  have  won  both  the  maid  and  the  wager, 
and,  by  the  Mass,  you  shall  enjoy  both." 

"Helas,  Sire,"  I  sighed  again,  "when  the  lady 
comes  to  know  of  the  wager  — " 

"Waste  no  time  in  telling  her.  Marcel,  and  cast 
yourself  upon  her  mercy.  Nay,  go  not  with  so  gloomy 
a  face,  my  friend.  When  woman  loves,  she  can  be 
very  merciful  —  leastways,  they  tell  me  so." 


THE  ELEVENTH  HOUR  171 

Then,  his  thoughts  shifting  ground  once  more,  he 
grew  stern  again. 

"But  first  we  have  Chatellerault  to  deal  with. 
What  shall  we  do  with  him?" 

"It  is  for  Your  Majesty  to  decide." 

"For  me?"  he  cried,  his  voice  resuming  the  harsh- 
ness that  was  never  far  from  it.  "I  have  a  fancy  for 
having  gentlemen  about  me.  Think  you  I  will  set 
eyes  again  upon  that  dastard  ?  I  am  already  resolved 
concerning  him,  but  it  entered  my  mind  that  it  might 
please  you  to  be  the  instrument  of  the  law  for  me." 

"Me,  Sire?" 

"Aye,  and  why  not?  They  say  you  can  play  a  very 
deadly  sword  upon  necessity.  This  is  an  occasion  that 
demands  an  exception  from  our  edict.  You  have 
my  sanction  to  send  the  Comte  de  Chatellerault  a 
challenge.  And  see  that  you  kill  him,  Bardelys!"  he 
continued  viciously.  "For,  by  the  Mass,  if  you  don't, 
I  will !  If  he  escapes  your  sword,  or  if  he  survives  such 
hurt  as  you  may  do  him,  the  headsman  shall  have  him. 
Mordieu !  is  it  for  nothing  that  I  am  called  Louis  the 
Just?" 

I  stood  in  thought  for  a  moment.    Then  — 

"If  I  do  this  thing.  Sire,"  I  ventured,  "the  world 
will  say  of  me  that  I  did  so  to  escape  the  payment  I 
had  incurred." 

"Fool,  you  have  not  incurred  it.  When  a  man 
cheats,  does  he  not  forfeit  all  his  rights?" 

"That  is  very  true.   But  the  world  — " 

"Peste!"  he  snapped  impatiently,  "you  are  begin- 
ning to  weary  me.  Marcel  —  and  all  the  world  does 
that  so  excellently  that  it  needs  not  your  collaboration. 
Go  your  ways,  man,  and  do  as  you  elect.  But  take  my 


172  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

sanction  to  slay  this  fellow  Chatellerault,  and  I  shall 
be  the  better  pleased  if  you  avail  yourself  of  it.  He  is 
lodged  at  the  Auberge  Royale,  where  probably  you 
will  find  him  at  present.  Now,  go.  I  have  more  justice 
to  dispense  in  this  rebellious  province." 

I  paused  a  moment. 

"Shall  I  not  resume  my  duties  near  Your  Majesty?" 

He  pondered  a  moment,  then  he  smiled  in  his  weary 
way. 

"It  would  please  me  to  have  you,  for  these  creatures 
are  so  dismally  dull,  all  of  them.  Je  m'ennuie  telle- 
ment.  Marcel!"  he  sighed.  "Ough!  But,  no,  my 
friend,  I  do  not  doubt  you  would  be  as  dull  as  any  of 
them  at  present.  A  man  in  love  is  the  weariest  and 
most  futile  thing  in  all  this  weary,  futile  world.  What 
shall  I  do  with  your  body  what  time  your  soul  is  at 
Lavedan?  I  doubt  me  you  are  in  haste  to  get  you 
there.  So  go.  Marcel.  Get  you  wed,  and  live  out  your 
amorous  intoxication;  marriage  is  the  best  antidote. 
When  that  is  done,  return  to  me." 

"That  will  be  never.  Sire,"  I  answered  slyly. 

"Say  you  so,  Master  Cupid  Bardelys?"  And  he 
combed  his  beard  reflectively.  "Be  not  too  sure. 
There  have  been  other  passions  —  aye,  as  great  as 
yours  —  yet  have  they  staled.  But  you  waste  my 
time.  Go,  Marcel;  you  are  excused  your  duties  by  me 
for  as  long  as  your  own  affairs  shall  hold  you  elsewhere 
—  for  as  long  as  you  please.  We  are  here  upon  a 
gloomy  business  —  as  you  know.  There  are  my 
cousin  Montmorency  and  the  others  to  be  dealt  with, 
and  we  are  holding  no  levees,  countenancing  no 
revels.  But  come  to  me  when  you  will,  and  I  will  see 
you.  Adieu  1" 


THE  ELEVENTH  HOUR  173 

I  murmured  my  thanks,  and  very  deep  and  sincere 
were  they.   Then,  having  kissed  his  hand,  I  left  him. 

Louis  Xni  is  a  man  who  lacks  not  maligners.  Of 
how  history  may  come  to  speak  of  him  it  is  not  mine 
to  hazard.  But  this  I  can  say,  that  I,  at  least,  did 
never  find  him  other  than  a  just  and  kindly  master,  an 
upright  gentleman,  capricious  at  times  and  wilful,  as 
must  inevitably  be  the  case  with  such  spoilt  children 
of  fortune  as  are  princes,  but  of  lofty  ideals  and  high 
principles.  It  was  his  worst  fault  that  he  was  always 
tired,  and  through  that  everlasting  weariness  he  came 
to  entrust  the  determining  of  most  affairs  to  His 
Eminence.  Hence  has  it  resulted  that  the  censure  for 
many  questionable  acts  of  his  reign,  which  were  the 
work  of  my  Lord  Cardinal,  has  recoiled  upon  my 
august  master's  head. 

But  to  me,  with  all  the  faults  that  may  be  assigned 
him,  he  was  ever  Louis  the  Just,  and  wherever  his 
name  be  mentioned  in  my  hearing,  I  bare  my  head. 


CHAPTER  XIV 
EAVESDROPPING 

I  TURNED  it  over  in  my  mind,  after  I  had  left  the 
King's  presence,  whether  or  not  I  should  visit  with 
my  own  hands  upon  Chatellerault  the  punishment  he 
had  so  fully  earned.  That  I  would  have  gone  about 
the  task  rejoicing  you  may  readily  imagine;  but  there 
was  that  accursed  wager,  and  —  to  restrain  me  —  the 
thought  of  how  such  an  action  might  be  construed  into 
an  evasion  of  its  consequences.  Better  a  thousand 
times  that  His  Majesty  should  order  his  arrest  and 
deal  with  him  for  his  attempted  perversion  of  justice 
to  the  service  of  his  own  vile  ends.  The  charge  of 
having  abused  his  trust  as  King's  commissioner  to  the 
extent  of  seeking  to  do  murder  through  the  channels 
of  the  Tribunal  was  one  that  could  not  fail  to  have 
fatal  results  for  him  —  as,  indeed,  the  King  had  sworn. 

That  was  the  position  of  affairs  as  it  concerned 
Chatellerault,  the  world,  and  me.  But  the  position 
must  also  be  considered  as  it  concerned  Roxalanne, 
and  deeply,  indeed,  did  I  so  consider  it.  Much  ponder- 
ing brought  me  again  to  the  conclusion  that  until  I 
had  made  the  only  atonement  in  my  power,  the  only 
atonement  that  would  leave  me  with  clean  hands,  I 
must  not  again  approach  her. 

Whether  Chatellerault  had  cheated  or  not  could 
not  affect  the  question  as  it  concerned  Mademoiselle 
and  me.  If  I  paid  the  wager  —  whether  in  honour 
bound  to  do  so  or  not  —  I  might  then  go  to  her,  im- 


EAVESDROPPING  175 

poverished,  it  is  true,  but  at  least  with  no  suspicion 
attaching  to  my  suit  of  any  ulterior  object  other  than 
that  of  winning  Roxalanne  herself. 

I  could  then  make  confession,  and  surely  the  fact 
that  I  had  paid  where  clearly  there  was  no  longer  any 
need  to  pay  must  earn  me  forgiveness  and  afford  proof 
of  the  sincerity  of  my  passion. 

Upon  such  a  course,  then,  did  I  decide,  and,  with 
this  end  in  view,  I  took  my  way  towards  the  Auberge 
Royale,  where  His  Majesty  had  told  me  that  the 
Count  was  lodged.  It  was  my  purpose  to  show  myself 
fully  aware  of  the  treacherous  and  unworthy  part  he 
had  played  at  the  very  inception  of  the  affair,  and 
that  if  I  chose  to  consider  the  wager  lost  it  was  that  I 
might  the  more  honestly  win  the  lady. 

Upon  inquiring  at  the  hostelry  for  Monsieur  de 
Chatellerault,  I  was  informed  by  the  servant  I  ad- 
dressed that  he  was  within,  but  that  at  the  moment 
he  had  a  visitor.  I  replied  that  I  would  wait,  and 
demanded  a  private  room,  since  I  desired  to  avoid 
meeting  any  Court  acquaintances  who  might  chance 
into  the  auberge  before  I  had  seen  the  Count. 

My  apparel  at  the  moment  may  not  have  been  all 
that  could  have  been  desired,  but  when  a  gentleman's 
rearing  has  taken  place  amid  an  army  of  servitors  to 
minister  to  his  every  wish,  he  is  likely  to  have  acquired 
an  air  that  is  wont  to  win  him  obedience.  With  all 
celerity  was  I  ushered  into  a  small  chamber,  opening 
on  the  one  side  upon  the  common  room,  and  being 
divided  on  the  other  by  the  thinnest  of  wooden 
partitions  from  the  adjoining  apartment. 

Here,  the  landlord  having  left  me,  I  disposed  myself 
to  wait,  and  here  I  did  a  thing  I  would  not  have  be- 


176  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

lieved  myself  capable  of  doing,  a  thing  I  cannot  think 
of  without  blushing  to  this  very  day.  In  short,  I 
played  the  eavesdropper  —  I,  Marcel  Saint-Pol  de 
Bardelys.  Yet,  if  you  who  read  and  are  nice-minded, 
shudder  at  this  confession,  or,  worse  still,  shrug  your 
shoulders  in  contempt,  with  the  reflection  that  such 
former  conduct  of  mine  as  I  have  avowed  had  already 
partly  disposed  you  against  surprise  at  this  —  I  do 
but  ask  that  you  measure  my  sin  by  my  temptation, 
and  think  honestly  whether  in  my  position  you  might 
not  yourselves  have  fallen.  Aye  —  be  you  never  so 
noble  and  high-principled  —  I  make  bold  to  say  that 
you  had  done  no  less,  for  the  voice  that  penetrated  to 
my  ears  was  that  of  Roxalanne  de  Lavedan. 

"I  sought  an  audience  with  the  King,"  she  was  say- 
ing, "  but  I  could  not  gain  his  presence.  They  told  me 
that  he  was  holding  no  levees,  and  that  he  refused  to 
see  any  one  not  introduced  by  one  of  those  having  the 
private  entree." 

"And  so,"  answered  the  voice  of  Chatellerault,  in 
tones  that  were  perfectly  colourless,  "you  come  to  me 
that  I  may  present  you  to  His  Majesty?" 

"  You  have  guessed  it.  Monsieur  le  Comte.  You  are 
the  only  gentleman  of  His  Majesty's  suite,  with  whom 
I  can  claim  acquaintance  —  however  slight  —  and, 
moreover,  it  is  well  known  how  high  you  stand  in  his 
royal  favour.  I  was  told  that  they  that  have  a  boon  to 
crave  can  find  no  better  sponsor." 

"Had  you  gone  to  the  King,  mademoiselle,"  said 
he,  "had  you  gained  an  audience,  he  would  but  have 
directed  you  to  make  your  appeal  to  me.  I  am  his 
Commissioner  in  Languedoc,  and  the  prisoners 
attainted  with  high  treason  are  my  property." 


EAVESDROPPING  177 

"Why  then,  monsieur,"  she  cried  in  an  eager  voice, 
that  set  my  pulses  throbbing,  "  you'll  not  deny  me  the 
boon  I  crave?  You'll  not  deny  me  his  life?" 

There  was  a  short  laugh  from  Chatellerault,  and  I 
could  hear  the  deliberate  fall  of  his  feet  as  he  paced 
the  chamber. 

"Mademoiselle,  mademoiselle,  you  must  not  over- 
rate my  powers.  You  must  not  forget  that  I  am  the 
slave  of  justice.  You  may  be  asking  more  than  is  in 
my  power  to  grant.  What  can  you  advance  to  show 
that  I  should  be  justified  in  proceeding  as  you  wish?" 

"Helas,  monsieur,  I  can  advance  nothing  but  my 
prayers  and  the  assurance  that  a  hideous  mistake  is 
being  made." 

"What  is  your  interest  in  this  Monsieur  de  Les- 
peron?" 

"He  is  not  Monsieur  de  Lesperon,"  she  cried. 

"  But,  since  you  cannot  tell  me  who  he  is,  you  must 
be  content  that  we  speak  of  him  at  least  as  Lesperon," 
said  he,  and  I  could  imagine  the  evil  grin  with  which 
he  would  accompany  the  words. 

The  better  that  you  may  appreciate  that  which 
followed,  let  me  here  impart  to  you  the  suspicions 
which  were  already  sinking  into  my  mind,  to  be 
changed  later  into  absolute  convictions  touching  the 
course  the  Count  intended  to  pursue  concerning  me. 
The  sudden  arrival  of  the  King  had  thrown  him  into 
some  measure  of  panic,  and  no  longer  daring  to  carry 
out  his  plans  concerning  me,  it  was  his  object,  I  make 
no  doubt,  to  set  me  at  liberty  that  very  evening.  Ere 
he  did  so,  however,  and  presuming  upon  my  ignorance 
of  His  Majesty's  presence  in  Toulouse,  Chatellerault 
would  of  a  certainty  have  bound  me  down  by  solemn 


178  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

promise  —  making  that  promise  the  price  of  my 
liberty  and  my  life  —  to  breathe  no  word  of  my 
captivity  and  trial.  No  doubt,  his  cunning  brain  would 
have  advanced  me  plausible  and  convincing  reasons 
so  to  engage  myself. 

He  had  not  calculated  upon  Castelroux,  nor  that  the 
King  should  already  have  heard  of  my  detention. 
Now  that  Roxalanne  came  to  entreat  him  to  do  that 
which  already  he  saw  himself  forced  to  do,  he  turned 
his  attention  to  the  profit  that  he  might  derive  from 
her  interestedness  on  my  behalf.  I  could  guess  also 
something  of  the  jealous  rage  that  must  fill  him  at 
this  signal  proof  of  my  success  with  her,  and  already 
I  anticipated,  I  think,  the  bargain  that  he  would 
drive. 

"Tell  me,  then,"  he  was  repeating,  "what  is  your 
interest  in  this  gentleman?" 

There  was  a  silence.  I  could  imagine  her  gentle  face 
clouded  with  the  trouble  that  sprang  from  devising  an 
answer  to  that  question;  I  could  picture  her  innocent 
eyes  cast  down,  her  delicate  cheeks  pinked  by  some 
measure  of  shame,  as  at  last,  in  a  low,  stifled  voice,  the 
four  words  broke  from  her  — 

"I  love  him,  monsieur." 

Ah,  Dieu!  To  hear  her  confess  it  so!  If  yesternight 
it  had  stirred  me  to  the  very  depths  of  my  poor,  sinful 
soul  to  have  her  say  so  much  to  me,  how  infinitely 
more  did  it  not  affect  me  to  overhear  this  frank  avowal 
of  it  to  another!  And  to  think  that  she  was  undergo^ 
ing  all  this  to  the  end  that  she  might  save  me! 

From  Chatellerault  there  came  an  impatient  snort 
in  answer,  and  his  feet  again  smote  the  floor  as  he  re- 
sumed the  pacing  that  for  a  moment   he   had  sus- 


EAVESDROPPING  179 

pended.  Then  followed  a  pause,  a  long  silence,  broken 
only  by  the  Count's  restless  walking  to  and  fro.  At 
last  — 

"Why  are  you  silent,  monsieur?"  she  asked  in  a 
trembling  voice. 

"Helas,  mademoiselle,  I  can  do  nothing.  I  had 
feared  that  it  might  be  thus  with  you;  and,  if  I  put  the 
question,  it  was  in  the  hope  that  I  was  wrong." 

"But  he,  monsieur?"  she  exclaimed  in  anguish. 
"What  of  him?" 

"  Believe  me,  mademoiselle,  if  it  lay  in  my  power  I 
would  save  him  were  he  never  so  guilty,  if  only  that  I 
might  spare  you  sorrow." 

He  spoke  with  tender  regret,  foul  hypocrite  that  he 
was! 

"Oh,  no,  no!"  she  cried,  and  her  voice  was  of  horror 
and  despair.  "  You  do  not  mean  that — "  She  stopped 
short;  and  then,  after  a  pause,  it  was  the  Count  who 
finished  the  sentence  for  her. 

"I  mean,  mademoiselle,  that  this  Lesperon  must 
die!" 

You  will  marvel  that  I  let  her  suffer  so,  that  I  did 
not  break  down  the  partition  with  my  hands  and 
»jtrike  that  supple  gentleman  dead  at  her  feet  in  atone- 
ment for  the  anguish  he  was  causing  her.  But  I  had  a 
mind  to  see  how  far  he  would  drive  this  game  he  was 
engaged  upon. 

Again  there  was  a  spell  of  silence,  and  at  last,  when 
Mademoiselle  spoke,  I  was  amazed  at  the  calm  voice 
in  which  she  addressed  him,  marvelling  at  the 
strength  and  courage  of  one  so  frail  and  childlike  to 
behold. 

"Is  your  determination,  indeed,  irrevocable,  mon- 


i8o  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

sieur?  If  you  have  any  pity,  will  you  not  at  least  let 
me  bear  my  prayers  and  my  tears  to  the  King?" 

"It  would  avail  you  nothing.  As  I  have  said,  the 
Languedoc  rebels  are  in  my  hands."  He  paused  as  if 
to  let  those  words  sink  well  into  her  understanding; 
then,  "If  I  were  to  set  him  at  liberty,  mademoiselle,  if 
I  were  to  spirit  him  out  of  prison  in  the  night,  bribing 
his  jailers  to  keep  silent  and  binding  him  by  oath  to 
quit  France  at  once  and  never  to  betray  me,  I  should 
be,  myself,  guilty  of  high  treason.  Thus  alone  could 
the  thing  be  done,  and  you  will  see,  mademoiselle, 
that  by  doing  it  I  should  be  endangering  my  neck." 

There  was  an  ineffable  undercurrent  of  meaning  in 
his  words  —  an  intangible  suggestion  that  he  might 
be  bribed  to  do  all  this  to  which  he  so  vaguely  al- 
luded. 

"I  understand,  monsieur,"  she  answered,  choking 
—  "I  understand  that  it  would  be  too  much  to  ask  of 
you." 

"It  would  be  much,  mademoiselle,"  he  returned 
quickly,  and  his  voice  was  now  subdued  and  ijivested 
with  an  odd  quiver.  "  But  nothing  that  your  lips  might 
ask  of  me  and  that  it  might  lie  in  the  power  of  mortal 
man  to  do,  would  be  too  much!" 

"  You  mean  ? "  she  cried,  a  catch  in  her  breath.  Had 
she  guessed  —  as  I,  without  sight  of  her  face,  had 
guessed  —  what  was  to  follow?  My  gorge  was  rising 
fast.  I  clenched  my  hands,  and  by  an  effort  I  re- 
strained myself  to  learn  that  I  had  guessed  aright. 

"Some  two  months  ago,"  he  said,  "I  journeyed  to 
Lavedan,  as  you  may  remember.  I  saw  you,  made- 
moiselle —  for  a  brief  while  only,  it  is  true  —  and 
ever  since  I  have  seen  nothing  else  but  you."   His 


EAVESDROPPING  i8i 

voice  went  a  shade  lower,  and  passion  throbbed  in  hij 
words. 

She,  too,  perceived  it,  for  the  grating  of  a  chair  in- 
formed me  that  she  had  risen. 

"Not  now,  monsieur  —  not  now!"  she  exclaimed. 
"This  is  not  the  season.  I  beg  of  you  think  of  my 
desolation." 

"  I  do,  mademoiselle,  and  I  respect  your  grief,  and, 
with  all  my  heart,  believe  me,  I  share  it.  Yet  this  is 
the  season,  and  if  you  have  this  man's  interests  at 
heart,  you  will  hear  me  to  the  end." 

Through  all  the  imperiousness  of  his  tone  an  odd 
note  of  respect  —  real  or  assumed  —  was  sounding. 

"If  you  suffer,  mademoiselle,  believe  me  that  I 
suffer  also,  and  if  I  make  you  suffer  more  by  what  I 
say,  I  beg  that  you  will  think  how  what  you  have  said, 
how  the  very  motive  of  your  presence  here,  has  made 
me  suffer.  Do  you  know,  mademoiselle,  what  it  is  to 
be  torn  by  jealousy,^  Can  you  imagine  it?  If  you  can, 
you  can  imagine  also  something  of  the  torture  I  en- 
dured when  you  confessed  to  me  that  you  loved  this 
Lesperon,  when  you  interceded  for  his  life.  Mademoi- 
selle, I  love  you  —  with  all  my  heart  and  soul  I  love 
you.  I  have  loved  you,  I  think,  since  the  first  moment 
of  our  meeting  at  Lavedan,  and  to  win  you  there  is  no 
risk  that  I  would  not  take,  no  danger  that  I  would 
not  brave." 

"Monsieur,  I  implore  you — " 

"Hear  me  out,  mademoiselle!"  he  cried.  Then  in 
quieter  voice  he  proceeded:  "At  present  you  love 
this  Monsieur  de  Lesperon  — " 

"I  shall  always  love  him!  Always,  monsieur!" 

"Wait,  wait,  wait!"  he  exclaimed,  annoyed  by  her 


i?2  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

interruption.  "  If  he  were  to  live,  and  you  were  to  wed 
him  and  be  daily  in  his  company,  I  make  no  doubt 
your  love  might  endure.  But  if  he  were  to  die,  or  if  he 
were  to  pass  into  banishment  and  you  were  to  see  him 
no  more,  you  would  mourn  him  for  a  little  while, 
and  then  —  Helas !  it  is  the  way  of  men  and  women  — 
time  would  heal  first  your  sorrow,  then  your  heart." 

"Never,  monsieur  —  oh,  never!" 

"I  am  older,  child,  than  you  are.  I  know.  At 
present  you  are  anxious  to  save  his  life  —  anxious  be- 
cause you  love  him,  and  also  because  you  betrayed 
him,  and  you  would  not  have  his  death  upon  your 
conscience."  He  paused  a  moment;  then  raising  his 
voice,  "Mademoiselle,"  said  he,  "I  offer  you  yoxs: 
lover's  life." 

"Monsieur,  monsieur!"  cried  the  poor  child,  "I 
knew  you  were  good!  I  knew  — " 

"A  moment!  Do  not  misapprehend  me.  I  do  not 
say  that  I  give  it  —  I  offer  it." 

"But  the  difference?" 

"That  if  you  would  have  it,  mademoiselle,  you 
must  buy  it.  I  have  said  that  for  you  I  would  brave 
all  dangers.  To  save  your  lover,  I  brave  the  scaffold. 
If  I  am  betrayed,  or  if  the  story  transpire,  my  head 
will  assuredly  fall  in  the  place  of  Lesperon's.  This 
I  will  risk,  mademoiselle  —  I  will  do  it  gladly — if  you 
will  promise  to  become  my  wife  when  it  is  done." 

There  was  a  moan  from  Roxalanne,  then  silence; 
then — "Oh,  monsieur,  you  are  pitiless!  What  bar- 
gain is  this  that  you  offer  me?" 

"A  fair  one,  surely,"  said  that  son  of  hell  —  "a  very 
fair  one.  The  risk  of  my  life  against  your  hand  in 
marriage." 


EAVESDROPPING  183 

"If  you  —  if  you  truly  loved  me  as  you  say,  mon- 
sieur," she  reasoned,  "you  would  serve  me  without 
asking  guerdon." 

"In  any  other  thing  I  would.  But  is  it  fair  to  ask  a 
man  who  is  racked  by  love  of  you  to  place  another  in 
your  arms,  and  that  at  the  risk  of  his  own  life?  Ah, 
mademoiselle,  I  am  but  a  man,  and  I  am  subject  to 
human  weaknesses.  If  you  will  consent,  this  Lesperon 
shall  go  free,  but  you  must  see  him  no  more;  and  I  will 
carry  my  consideration  so  far  as  to  give  you  six  months 
in  which  to  overcome  your  sorrow,  ere  I  present  my- 
self to  you  again  to  urge  my  suit." 

"And  if  I  refuse,  monsieur?" 

He  sighed. 

"To  the  value  which  I  set  upon  my  life  you  must 
Add  my  very  human  jealousy.  From  such  a  combina- 
tion what  can  you  hope  for?" 

"You  mean,  in  short,  that  he  must  die?" 

"To-morrow,"  was  that  infernal  cheat's  laconic 
answer. 

They  were  silent  a  little  while,  then  she  fell  a-sobbing. 

"Be  pitiful,  monsieur!  Have  mercy  if  you,  indeed, 
love  me.  Oh,  he  must  not  die!  I  cannot,  I  dare  not, 
let  him  die!  Save  him,  monsieur,  and  I  will  pray  for 
you  every  night  of  my  life;  I  will  pray  for  you  to  our 
Holy  Mother  as  I  am  now  praying  to  you  for  him." 

Lived  there  the  man  to  resist  that  innocent,  devout 
appeal  ?  Lived  there  one  who  in  answer  to  such  gentle 
words  of  love  and  grief  could  obtrude  his  own  coarse 
passions?  It  seems  there  did,  for  all  he  answered 
was  — 

"You  know  the  price,  child." 

"And  God  pity  me!  I  must  pay  it.  I  must,  for  if 


i84  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

he  dies  I  shall  have  his  blood  upon  my  conscience!" 
Then  she  checked  her  grief,  and  her  voice  grew  almost 
stern  in  the  restraint  she  set  upon  herself.  "If  I  give 
you  my  promise  to  wed  you  hereafter  —  say  in  six 
months'  time  —  what  proof  will  you  afford  me  that  he 
who  is  detained  under  the  name  of  Lesperon  shall  go 
free?" 

I  caught  the  sound  of  something  very  like  a  gasp 
from  the  Count. 

"Remain  in  Toulouse  until  to-morrow,  and  to-night 
ere  he  departs  he  shall  come  to  take  his  leave  of  you. 
Are  you  content?" 

"Be  it  so,  monsieur,"  she  answered. 

Then  at  last  I  leapt  to  my  feet.  I  could  endure  no 
more.  You  may  marvel  that  I  had  had  the  heart  to 
endure  so  much,  and  to  have  so  let  her  suffer  that  I 
might  satisfy  myself  how  far  this  scoundrel  Chatelle- 
rault  would  drive  his  trickster's  bargain. 

A  more  impetuous  man  would  have  beaten  down 
the  partition,  or  shouted  to  her  through  it  the  consola- 
tion that  Chatellerault's  bargain  was  no  bargain  at 
all,  since  I  was  already  at  large.  And  that  is  where  a 
more  impetuous  man  would  have  acted  upon  instinct 
more  wisely  than  did  I  upon  reason.  Instead,  I  opened 
the  door,  and,  crossing  the  common  room,  I  flung  my- 
self down  a  passage  that  I  thought  must  lead  to  the 
chamber  in  which  they  were  closeted.  But  in  this  I 
was  at  fault,  and  ere  I  had  come  upon  a  waiter  and 
been  redirected  some  precious  moments  were  lost.  He 
led  me  back  through  the  common  room  to  a  door 
opening  upon  another  corridor.  He  pushed  it  wide, 
and  I  came  suddenly  face  to  face  with  Chatellerault, 
still  flushed  from  his  recent  contest. 


EAVESDROPPING  185 

"You  here!"  he  gasped,  his  jaw  falling,  and  his 
cheeks  turning  pale,  as  well  they  might;  for  all  that  he 
could  not  dream  I  had  overheard  his  bargaining. 

"  We  will  go  back,  if  you  please,  Monsieur  le  Com  te." 
said  I. 

"Back  where?"  he  asked  stupidly. 

"  Back  to  Mademoiselle.  Back  to  the  room  you  have 
just  quitted."  And  none  too  gently  I  pushed  him  into 
the  corridor  again,  and  so,  in  the  gloom,  I  missed  the 
expression  of  his  face. 

"She  is  not  there,"  said  he. 

I  laughed  shortly. 

"Nevertheless,  we  will  go  back,"  I  insisted. 

And  so  I  had  my  way,  and  we  gained  the  room  where 
his  infamous  traffic  had  been  held.  Yet  for  once  he 
spoke  the  truth.   She  was  no  longer  there. 

"Where  is  she?"  I  demanded  angrily. 

"Gone,"  he  answered;  and  when  I  protested  that  I 
had  not  met  her,  "You  would  not  have  a  lady  go  by 
way  of  the  public  room,  would  you?"  he  demanded 
insolently.  "She  left  by  the  side  door  into  the  court- 
yard." 

"That  being  so.  Monsieur  le  Comte,"  said  I  quietly, 
"I  will  have  a  little  talk  with  you  before  going  after 
her."  And  I  carefully  closed  the  door. 


CHAPTER  XV 
MONSIEUR  DE  CHATELLERAULT  IS  ANGRY 

WITHIN  the  room  Chatellerault  and  I  faced 
each  other  in  silence.  And  how  vastly  changed 
were  the  circumstances  since  our  last  meeting! 

The  disorder  that  had  stamped  itself  upon  his 
countenance  when  first  he  had  beheld  me  still  pre- 
vailed. There  was  a  lowering,  sullen  look  in  his  eyes 
and  a  certain  displacement  of  their  symmetry  which 
was  peculiar  to  them  when  troubled. 

Although  a  cunning  plotter  and  a  scheming  in- 
triguer in  his  own  interests,  Chatellerault,  as  I  have 
said  before,  was  not  by  nature  a  quick  man.  His  wits 
worked  slowly,  and  he  needed  leisure  to  consider  a 
situation  and  his  actions  therein  ere  he  was  in  a 
position  to  engage  with  it. 

" Monsieur  le  Comte,"  quoth  I  ironically,  "I  make 
you  my  compliments  upon  your  astuteness  and  the 
depth  of  your  schemes,  and  my  condolences  upon  the 
little  accident  owing  to  which  I  am  here,  and  in 
consequence  of  which  your  pretty  plans  are  likely  to 
miscarry." 

He  threw  back  his  great  head  like  a  horse  that  feels 
the  curb,  and  his  smouldering  eyes  looked  up  at  me 
balefully.   Then  his  sensuous  lips  parted  in  scorn. 

"How  much  do  you  know?"  he  demanded,  with 
sullen  contempt. 

"I  have  been  in  that  room  for  the  half  of  an  hour," 
I  answered,  rapping  the  partition  with  my  knuckles* 


M.  DE  CHATELLERAULT  IS  ANGRY      187 

"The  dividing  wall,  as  you  will  observe,  is  thin,  and  I 
heard  everything  that  passed  between  you  and  Made- 
moiselle de  Lavedan." 

"So  that  Bardelys,  known  as  the  Magnificent;  Bar- 
delys  the  mirror  of  chivalry;  Bardelys  the  arbiter 
elegantiarum  of  the  Court  of  France,  is  no  better,  it 
seems,  than  a  vulgar  spy." 

If  he  sought  by  that  word  to  anger  me,  he  failed. 

"Lord  Count,"  I  answered  him  very  quietly,  "you 
are  of  an  age  to  know  that  the  truth  alone  has  power 
to  wound.  I  was  in  that  room  by  accident,  and  when 
the  first  words  of  your  conversation  reached  me  I  had 
not  been  human  had  I  not  remained  and  strained  my 
ears  to  catch  every  syllable  you  uttered.  For  the  rest, 
let  me  ask  you,  my  dear  Chatellerault,  since  when 
have  you  become  so  nice  that  you  dare  cast  it  at  a 
man  that  he  has  been  eavesdropping?" 

"You  are  obscure,  monsieur.  What  is  it  that  you 
suggest?" 

"  I  am  signifying  that  when  a  man  stands  unmasked 
for  a  cheat,  a  liar,  and  a  thief,  his  own  character  should 
give  him  concern  enough  to  restrain  him  from  stric- 
tures upon  that  of  another." 

A  red  flush  showed  through  the  tan  of  his  skin,  then 
faded  and  left  him  livid  —  a  very  evil  sight,  as  God 
lives.  He  flung  his  heavily-feathered  hat  upon  the 
table,  and  carried  his  hand  to  his  hilt. 

"God's  blood ! "  he  cried.  "  You  shall  answer  me  for 
this." 

I  shook  my  head  and  smiled;  but  I  made  no  sign  of 
drawing. 

"Monsieur,  we  must  talk  a  while.  I  think  that  you 
had  better." 


i88  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

He  raised  his  sullen  eyes  to  mine.  Perhaps  the 
earnest  impressiveness  of  my  tones  prevailed.  Be  that 
as  it  may,  his  half-drawn  sword  was  thrust  back  with 
a  click,  and  — 

"What  have  you  to  say?"  he  asked. 

"  Be  seated."  I  motioned  him  to  a  chair  by  the  table 
and  when  he  had  taken  it  I  sat  down  opposite  to  him. 
Taking  up  a  quill,  I  dipped  it  in  the  ink-horn  that 
stood  by,  and  drew  towards  me  a  sheet  of  paper. 

"When  you  lured  me  into  the  wager  touching  Made- 
moiselle de  Lavedan,"  said  I  calmly,  "you  did  so, 
counting  upon  certain  circumstances,  of  which  you 
alone  had  knowledge,  that  should  render  impossible 
the  urging  of  my  suit.  That,  Monsieur  le  Comte,  was 
undeniably  the  action  of  a  cheat.  Was  it  not?" 

"Damnation!"  he  roared,  and  would  have  risen, 
but,  my  hand  upon  his  arm,  I  restrained  him  and 
pressed  him  back  into  his  chair. 

"By  a  sequence  of  fortuitous  circumstances,"  I 
pursued,  "it  became  possible  for  me  to  circumvent  the 
obstacle  upon  which  you  had  based  your  calculations. 
Those  same  circumstances  led  later  to  my  being 
arrested  in  error  and  in  place  of  another  man.  You 
discovered  how  I  had  contravened  the  influence  upon 
which  you  counted;  you  trembled  to  see  how  the  un- 
expected had  befriended  me,  and  you  began  to  fear 
for  your  wager. 

"  What  did  you  do  ?  Seeing  me  arraigned  before  you 
in  your  quality  as  King's  Commissioner,  you  pre- 
tended to  no  knowledge  of  me;  you  became  blind 
to  my  being  any  but  Lesperon  the  rebel,  and  you 
sentenced  me  to  death  in  his  place,  so  that  being  thus 
definitely  removed  I  should  be  unable  to  carry  out  my 


M.  DE  CHATELLERAULT  IS  ANGRY      189 

undertaking,  and  my  lands  should  consequently  pass 
into  your  possession.  That,  monsieur,  was  at  once  the 
act  of  a  thief  and  a  murderer.  Wait,  rhonsieur;  re- 
strain yourself  until  I  shall  have  done.  To-day  again 
fortune  comes  to  my  rescue.  Again  you  see  me  slip- 
ping from  your  grasp,  and  you  are  in  despair.  Then, 
in  the  eleventh  hour.  Mademoiselle  de  Lavedan  comes 
to  you  to  plead  for  my  life.  By  that  act  she  gives  you 
the  most  ample  proof  that  your  wager  is  lost.  What 
would  a  gentleman,  a  man  of  honour,  have  done  under 
these  circumstances?  What  did  jyo«  do?  You  seized 
that  last  chance;  you  turned  it  to  the  best  account; 
you  made  this  poor  girl  buy  something  from  you;  you 
made  her  sell  herself  to  you  for  nothing  —  pretending 
that  your  nothing  was  a  something  of  great  value. 
What  term  shall  we  apply  to  that?  To  say  that  you 
cheated  again  seems  hardly  adequate." 

"ByGod,  Bardelys!" 

"Wait!"  I  thundered,  looking  him  straight  between 
the  eyes,  so  that  again  he  sank  back  cowed.  Then  re- 
suming the  calm  with  which  hitherto  I  had  addressed 
him,  "Your  cupidity,"  said  I,  "your  greed  for  the 
estates  of  Bardelys,  and  your  jealousy  and  thirst  to 
see  me  impoverished  and  so  ousted  from  my  position 
at  Court,  to  leave  you  supreme  in  His  Majesty's  fa- 
vour, have  put  you  to  strange  shifts  for  a  gentleman, 
Chatellerault.   Yet,  wait." 

And,  dipping  my  pen  in  the  ink-horn,  I  began  to 
write.  I  was  conscious  of  his  eyes  upon  me,  and  I 
could  imagine  his  surmisings  and  bewildered  specula- 
tions as  my  pen  scratched  rapidly  across  the  paper.  In 
a  few  moments  it  was  done,  and  I  tossed  the  pen  aside. 
I  took  up  the  sandbox. 


I90  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

"When  a  man  cheats,  Monsieur  le  Comte,  and  is 
detected,  he  is  invariably  adjudged  the  loser  of  his 
stakes.  On  that  count  alone  everything  that  you  have 
is  now  mine  by  rights."  Again  I  had  to  quell  an  inter- 
ruption. "But  if  we  waive  that  point,  and  proceed 
upon  the  supposition  that  you  have  dealt  fairly  and 
honourably  with  me,  why,  then,  monsieur,  you  have 
still  sufficient  evidence  —  the  word  of  Mademoiselle, 
herself,  in  fact  —  that  I  have  won  my  wager.  And  so, 
if  we  take  this,  the  most  lenient  view  of  the  case  "  —  I 
paused  to  sprinkle  the  sand  over  my  writing  —  "your 
estates  are  still  lost  to  you,  and  pass  to  be  my 
property." 

"Do  they,  by  God?"  he  roared,  unable  longer  to 
restrain  himself,  and  leaping  to  his  feet.  "You  have 
done,  have  you  not?  You  have  said  all  that  you  can 
call  to  mind?  You  have  flung  insults  and  epithets  at 
me  enough  to  earn  the  cutting  of  a  dozen  throats. 
You  have  dubbed  me  cheat  and  thief  "  —  he  choked 
in  his  passion  —  "until  you  have  had  your  fill  —  is 
it  not  so?  Now,  listen  to  me.  Master  Bardelys,  mas- 
ter spy,  master  buffoon,  master  masquerader!  What 
manner  of  proceeding  was  yours  to  go  to  Lavedan 
under  a  false  name?  How  call  you  that?  Was  that, 
perhaps,  not  cheating?" 

"No,  monsieur,  it  was  not,"  I  answered  quietly. 
"It  was  in  the  terms  of  your  challenge  that  I  was  free 
to  go  to  Lavedan  in  what  guise  I  listed,  employing 
what  wiles  I  pleased.  But  let  that  be,"  I  ended,  and, 
creasing  the  paper,  I  poured  the  sand  back  into  the 
box,  and  dusted  the  document.  "The  point  is  hardly 
worth  discussing  at  this  time  of  day.  If  not  one  way, 
why,  then,  in  another,  your  wager  is  lost." 


M.  DE  CHATELLERAULT  IS  ANGRY       191 

"Is  it?"  He  set  his  arms  akimbo  and  eyed  me  deri- 
sively, his  thick-set  frame  planted  squarely  before  me. 
"You  are  satisfied  that  it  is  so?  Quite  satisfied,  eh?" 
He  leered  in  my  face.  "Why,  then.  Monsieur  le  Mar- 
quis, we  will  see  whether  a  few  inches  of  steel  will  win 
it  back  for  me."  And  once  more  his  hand  flew  to  his 
hilt. 

Rising,  I  flung  the  document  I  had  accomplished 
upon  the  table.   "Glance  first  at  that,"  said  I. 

He  stopped  to  look  at  me  in  inquiry,  my  manner 
sowing  so  great  a  curiosity  in  him  that  his  passion  was 
all  scattered  before  it.  Then  he  stepped  up  to  the 
table  and  lifted  the  paper.  As  he  read,  his  hand 
shook,  amazement  dilated  his  eyes  and  furrowed  his 
brow. 

"What  —  what  does  it  signify?"  he  gasped. 

"It  signifies  that,  although  fully  conscious  of  hav- 
ing won,  I  prefer  to  acknowledge  that  I  have  lost.  I 
make  over  to  you  thus  my  estates  of  Bardelys,  because, 
monsieur,  I  have  come  to  realize  that  that  wager  was 
an  infamous  one  —  one  in  which  a  gentleman  should 
have  had  no  part  —  and  the  only  atonement  I  can 
make  —  to  myself,  my  honour,  and  the  lady  whom 
we  insulted  —  is  that." 

"I  do  not  understand,"  he  complained. 

"I  apprehend  your  difficulty,  Comte.  The  point  is 
a  nice  one.  But  understand  at  least  that  my  Picardy 
estates  are  yours.  Only,  monsieur,  you  will  be  well 
advised  to  make  your  will  forthwith,  for  you  are  not 
destined,  yourself,  to  enjoy  them." 

He  looked  at  me,  his  glance  charged  with  inquiry. 

"His  Majesty,"  I  continued,  in  answer  to  his  glance, 
"is  ordering  your  arrest  for  betraying  the  trust  he 


192  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

had  reposed  in  you  and  for  perverting  the  ends  of 
justice  to  do  your  own  private  murdering." 

"Mon  Dieu!"  he  cried,  falling  of  a  sudden  into  a 
most  pitiful  affright.   "The  King  knows?" 

"Knows?"  I  laughed.  "In  the  excitement  of  these 
other  matters  you  have  forgotten  to  ask  how  I  come 
to  be  at  liberty.  I  have  been  to  the  King,  monsieur, 
and  I  have  told  him  what  has  taken  place  here  at 
Toulouse,  and  how  I  was  to  have  gone  to  the  block  to- 


morrow 


"Scelerat!"  he  cried.  "You  have  ruined  me!" 
Rage  and  grief  were  blent  in  his  accents.  He  stood  be- 
fore me,  livid  of  face  and  with  hands  clenching  and 
unclenching  at  his  sides. 

"Did  you  expect  me  to  keep  such  a  matter  silent? 
Even  had  I  been  so  inclined  it  had  not  been  easy,  for 
His  Majesty  had  questions  to  ask  me.  From  what  the 
King  said,  monsieur,  you  may  count  upon  mounting 
the  scaffold  in  my  stead.  So  be  advised,  and  make 
your  will  without  delay,  if  you  would  have  your  heirs 
enjoy  my  Picardy  chateau." 

I  have  seen  terror  and  anger  distort  men's  counte- 
nances, but  never  have  I  seen  aught  to  compare  with 
the  disorder  of  Chatellerault  at  that  moment.  He 
stamped  and  raved  and  fumed.  He  poured  forth  a 
thousand  ordures  of  speech  in  his  frenzy;  he  heaped 
insults  upon  me  and  imprecations  upon  the  King, 
whose  lapdog  he  pronounced  me.  His  short,  stout 
frame  was  quivering  with  passion  and  fear,  his  broad 
face  distorted  by  his  hideous  grimaces  of  rage.  And 
then,  while  yet  his  ravings  were  in  full  flow,  the  door 
opened,  and  in  stepped  the  airy  Chevalier  de  Saint- 
Eustache. 


I 


M.  DE  CHATELLERAULT  IS  ANGRY      193 

He  stood  still,  amazed,  beneath  the  lintel  —  marvel- 
ling to  see  all  this  anger,  and  abashed  at  beholding 
me.  His  sudden  appearance  reminded  me  that  I  had 
last  seen  him  at  Grenade  in  the  Count's  company,  on 
the  day  of  my  arrest.  The  surprise  it  had  occasioned 
me  now  returned  upon  seeing  him  so  obviously  and 
intimately  seeking  Chatellerault. 

The  Count  turned  on  him  in  his  anger. 

"Well,  popinjay?"  he  roared.  "What  do  you  want 
with  me?" 

"Monsieur  le  Comte!"  cried  the  other,  in  blent  in- 
dignation and  reproach. 

"You  will  perceive  that  you  are  come  inoppor- 
tunely," I  put  in.  "Monsieur  de  Chatellerault  is  not 
quite  himself." 

But  my  speech  again  drew  his  attention  to  my 
presence,  and  the  wonder  grew  in  his  eyes  at  finding 
me  there,  for  to  him  I  was  still  Lesperon  the  rebel,  and 
he  marvelled  naturally  that  I  should  be  at  large. 

Then  in  the  corridor  there  was  a  sound  of  steps  and 
voices,  and  as  I  turned  I  beheld  in  the  doorway,  be- 
hind Saint-Eustache,  the  faces  of  Castelroux,  Miron- 
sac,  and  my  old  acquaintance,  the  babbling,  irre- 
sponsible buffoon.  La  Fosse.  From  Mironsac  he  had 
heard  of  my  presence  in  Toulouse,  and,  piloted  by 
Castelroux,  they  were  both  come  to  seek  me  out.  I'll 
swear  it  was  not  thus  they  had  looked  to  find  me. 

They  pushed  their  way  into  the  room,  impelling 
Saint-Eustache  forward,  and  there  were  greetings  ex- 
changed and  fehcitations,  whilst  Chatellerault,  curb- 
ing his  disorder,  drew  the  Chevalier  into  a  corner  of 
the  room,  and  stood  there  listening  to  him. 

At  length  I  heard  the  Count  exclaim  — 


194  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

"  Do  as  you  please,  Chevalier.  If  you  have  interests 
of  your  own  to  serve,  serve  them.  As  for  myself —  I 
am  past  being  interested." 

"But  why,  monsieur.''"  the  chevalier  inquired. 

"Why?"  echoed  Chatellerault,  his  ferocity  welling 
up  again.  Then,  swinging  round,  he  came  straight  at 
me,  as  a  bull  makes  a  charge. 

"Monsieur  de  Bardelys!"  he  blazed. 

"Bardelys!"  gasped  Saint-Eustache  in  the  back- 
ground. 

"What  now?"  I  inquired  coldly,  turning  from  my 
friends. 

"All  that  you  said  may  be  true,  and  I  may  be 
doomed,  but  I  swear  before  God  that  you  shall  not  go 
unpunished." 

"  I  think,  monsieur,  that  you  run  a  grave  risk  of  per- 
juring yourself!"  I  laughed. 

"You  shall  render  me  satisfaction  ere  we  part!"  he 
cried. 

"  If  you  do  not  deem  that  paper  satisfaction  enough, 
then,  monsieur,  forgive  me,  but  your  greed  transcends 
all  possibility  of  being  ever  satisfied." 

"  The  devil  take  your  paper  and  your  estates !  What 
shall  they  profit  me  when  I  am  dead?" 

"They  may  profit  your  heirs,"  I  suggested. 

"How  shall  that  profit  me?" 

"That  is  a  riddle  that  I  cannot  pretend  to  elucidate." 

"You  laugh,  you  knave!"  he  snorted.  Then,  with 
an  abrupt  change  of  manner,  "You  do  not  lack  for 
friends,"  said  he.  "  Beg  one  of  these  gentlemen  to  act 
for  you,  and  if  you  are  a  man  of  honour  let  us  step  out 
into  the  yard  and  settle  the  matter." 

I  shook  my  head. 


M.  DE  CHATELLERAULT  IS  ANGRY      19J 

"I  am  so  much  a  man  of  honour  as  to  be  careful 
with  whom  I  cross  steel.  I  prefer  to  leave  you  to  His 
Majesty's  vengeance;  his  headsman  may  be  less 
particular  than  am  I.  No,  monsieur,  on  the  whole,  I 
do  not  think  that  I  can  fight  you." 

His  face  grew  a  shade  paler.  It  became  grey;  the 
jaw  was  set,  and  the  eyes  were  more  out  of  symmetry 
than  I  had  ever  seen  them.  Their  glance  approached 
what  is  known  in  Italy  as  the  maFocchiOj  and  to  pro- 
tect themselves  against  the  baneful  influences  of  which 
men  carry  charms.  A  moment  he  stood  so,  eyeing  me. 
Then,  coming  a  step  nearer  — 

"You  do  not  think  that  you  can  fight  me,  eh?  You 
do  not  think  it?  Pardieu!  How  shall  I  make  you 
change  your  mind?  To  the  insult  of  words  you  appear 
impervious.  You  imagine  your  courage  above  dispute 
because  by  a  lucky  accident  you  killed  La  Vertoile 
some  years  ago,  and  the  fame  of  it  has  attached  to 
you."  In  the  intensity  of  his  anger  he  was  breathing 
heavily,  like  a  man  overburdened.  "You  have  been 
living  ever  since  by  the  reputation  which  that  accident 
gave  you.  Let  us  see  if  you  can  die  by  it.  Monsieur  de 
Bardelys."  And,  leaning  forward,  he  struck  me  on  the 
breast,  so  suddenly  and  so  powerfully  —  for  he  was  a 
man  of  abnormal  strength  —  that  I  must  have  fallen 
but  that  La  Fosse  caught  me  in  his  arms. 

"Kill  him!"  lisped  the  classic-minded  fool.  "Play 
Theseus  to  this  bull  of  Marathon." 

Chatellerault  stood  back,  his  hands  on  his  hips,  his 
head  inclined  towards  his  right  shoulder,  and  an 
insolent  leer  of  expectancy  upon  his  face. 

"Will  that  resolve  you?"  he  sneered. 

"I  will   meet  you,"  I  answered,  when  I  had  re- 


196  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

covered  breath.  "But  I  swear  that  I  shall  not  help 
you  to  escape  the  headsman." 

He  laughed  harshly. 

"Do  I  not  know  it?"  he  mocked.  "How  shall  kill- 
ing you  help  me  to  escape?  Come,  messieurs,  sortons. 
At  once!" 

"Soit,"  I  answered  shortly;  and  thereupon  we 
crowded  from  the  room,  and  went  pele-mele  down  the 
passage  to  the  courtyard  at  the  back. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

SWORDS ! 

LA  FOSSE  led  the  way  with  me,  his  arm  through 
J  mine,  swearing  that  he  would  be  my  second.  He 
had  such  a  stomach  for  a  fight,  had  this  irresponsible, 
irrepressible  rhymester,  that  it  mounted  to  the  heights 
of  passion  with  him,  and  when  I  mentioned,  in  answer 
to  a  hint  dropped  in  connection  with  the  edict,  that  I 
had  the  King's  sanction  for  this  combat,  he  was  nearly 
mad  with  joy. 

"Blood  of  La  Fosse!"  was  his  oath.  "The  honour 
to  stand  by  you  shall  be  mine,  my  Bardelys !  You  owe 
it  me,  for  am  I  not  in  part  to  blame  for  all  this  ado? 
Nay,  you'll  not  deny  me.  That  gentleman  yonder, 
with  the  wild-cat  moustaches  and  a  name  like  a  Gas- 
con oath  —  that  cousin  of  Mironsac's,  I  mean  —  has 
the  flair  of  a  fight  in  his  nostrils,  and  a  craving  to  be  in 
it.  But  you'll  grant  me  the  honour,  will  you  not? 
Pardieu!  It  will  earn  me  a  place  in  history." 

"Or  the  graveyard,"  quoth  I,  by  way  of  cooling  his 
ardour. 

"Peste!  What  an  augury!"  Then,  with  a  laugh*. 
"But,"  he  added,  indicating  Saint-Eustache,  "that 
long,  lean  saint  —  I  forget  of  what  he  is  patron  — 
hardly  wears  a  murderous  air." 

To  win  peace  from  him,  I  promised  that  he  should 
stand  by  me.  But  the  favour  lost  much  of  its  value  in 
his  eyes  when  presently  I  added  that  I  did  not  wish 


198  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

the  seconds  to  engage,  since  the  matter  was  of  so  very 
personal  a  character. 

Mironsac  and  Castelroux,  assisted  by  Saint-Eu- 
stache,  closed  the  heavy  porte-cochere,  and  so  shut 
us  in  from  the  observation  of  passers-by.  The  clang- 
ing of  those  gates  brought  the  landlord  and  a  couple  of 
his  knaves,  and  we  were  subjected  to  the  prayers  and 
intercessions,  to  the  stormings  and  ravings  that  are 
ever  the  prelude  of  a  stable-yard  fight,  but  which  in- 
variably end,  as  these  ended,  in  the  landlord's  with- 
drawal to  run  for  help  to  the  nearest  corps-de-garde. 

"Now,  my  myrmillones,"  cried  La  Fosse  in  blood- 
thirsty jubilation,  "to  work  before  the  host  returns." 

"Po'  Cap  de  Diou!"  growled  Castelroux,  "is  this  a 
time  for  jests,  master  joker?" 

"Jests?"  I  heard  him  retorting,  as  he  assisted  me  to 
doff  my  doublet.  "Do  I  jest?  Diable!  you  Gascons 
are  a  slow-witted  folk!  I  have  a  taste  for  allegory,  my 
friend,  but  that  never  yet  was  accounted  so  low  a 
thing  as  jesting." 

At  last  we  were  ready,  and  I  shifted  the  whole  of  my 
attention  to  the  short,  powerful  figure  of  Chatelle- 
rault  as  he  advanced  upon  me,  stripped  to  the  waist, 
his  face  set  and  his  eyes  full  of  stern  resolve.  Despite 
his  low  stature,  and  the  breadth  of  frame  which  argue 
sluggish  motion,  there  was  something  very  formidable 
about  the  Count.  His  bared  arms  were  great  masses 
of  muscular  flesh,  and  if  his  wrist  were  but  half  as 
supple  as  it  looked  powerful,  that  alone  should  render 
him  a  dangerous  antagonist. 

Yet  I  had  no  qualm  of  fear,  no  doubt,  even,  touch- 
ing the  issue.  Not  that  I  was  an  habitual  ferrailleur. 
As  I  have  indicated,  I  had  fought  but  one  man  in  all 


I 


SWORDS!  199 

my  life.  Nor  yet  am  I  of  those  who  are  said  to  know- 
no  fear  under  any  circumstances.  Such  men  are  not 
truly  brave;  they  are  stupid  and  unimaginative,  in 
proof  of  which  I  will  advance  the  fact  that  you  may 
incite  a  timid  man  to  deeds  of  reckless  valour  by 
drugging  him  with  wine.  But  this  is  by  the  way.  It 
may  be  that  the  very  regular  fencing  practice  that  in 
Paris  I  was  wont  to  take  may  so  have  ordered  my 
mind  that  the  fact  of  meeting  unbaited  steel  had  httle 
power  to  move  me. 

Be  that  as  it  may,  I  engaged  the  Count  without  a 
tremor  either  of  the  flesh  or  of  the  spirit.  I  was  re- 
solved to  wait  and  let  him  open  the  play,  that  I  might 
have  an  opportunity  of  measuring  his  power  and  see- 
ing how  best  I  might  dispose  of  him.  I  was  determined 
to  do  him  no  hurt,  and  to  leave  him,  as  I  had  sworn,  to 
the  headsman;  and  so,  either  by  pressure  or  by  seiz- 
ure, it  was  my  aim  to  disarm  him. 

But  on  his  side  also  he  entered  upon  the  duel  with 
all  caution  and  wariness.  From  his  rage  I  had  hoped 
for  a  wild,  angry  rush  that  should  afford  me  an  easy 
opportunity  of  gaining  my  ends  with  him.  Not  so, 
however.  Now  that  he  came  with  steel  to  defend 
his  life  and  to  seek  mine,  he  appeared  to  have  realized 
the  importance  of  having  keen  wits  to  guide  his  hand; 
and  so  he  put  his  anger  from  him,  and  emerged  calm 
and  determined  from  his  whilom  disorder. 

Some  preliminary  passes  we  made  from  the  first  en- 
gagement in  the  lines  of  tierce,  each  playing  warily  for 
an  opening,  yet  neither  of  us  giving  ground  or  betray- 
ing haste  or  excitement.  Now  his  blade  slithered  on 
mine  with  a  ceaseless  tremor;  his  eyes  watched  mine 
from  under  lowering  brows,  and  with  knees  bent  he 


20O  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

crouched  like  a  cat  making  ready  for  a  spring.  Then 
it  came.  Sudden  as  lightning  was  his  disengage;  he 
darted  under  my  guard,  then  over  it,  then  back  and 
under  it  again,  and  stretching  out  in  the  lunge  —  his 
double-feint  completed  —  he  straightened  his  arm  to 
drive  home  the  botte. 

But  with  a  flying  point  I  cleared  his  blade  out  of  the 
line  of  my  body.  There  had  been  two  sharp  tinkles  of 
our  meeting  swords,  and  now  Chatellerault  stood  at 
his  fullest  stretch,  the  half  of  his  steel  past  and  behind 
me,  for  just  a  fraction  of  time  completely  at  my  mercy. 
Yet  I  was  content  to  stand,  and  never  move  my  blade 
from  his  until  he  had  recovered  and  we  were  back  in 
our  first  position  once  again. 

I  heard  the  deep  bass  of  Castelroux's  "Mordioux!" 
the  sharp  gasp  of  fear  from  Saint-Eustache,  who  al- 
ready in  imagination  beheld  his  friend  stretched  life- 
less on  the  ground,  and  the  cry  of  mortification  from 
La  Fosse  as  the  Count  recovered.  But  I  heeded  these 
things  little.  As  I  have  said,  to  kill  the  Count  was  not 
my  object.  It  had  been  wise,  perhaps,  in  Chatelle- 
rault to  have  appreciated  that  fact;  but  he  did  not. 
From  the  manner  in  which  he  now  proceeded  to  press 
me,  I  was  assured  that  he  set  his  having  recovered 
guard  to  slowness  on  my  part,  never  thinking  of  the 
speed  that  had  been  necessary  to  win  myself  such  an 
opening  as  I  had  obtained. 

My  failure  to  run  him  through  in  that  moment  of 
jeopardy  inspired  him  with  a  contempt  of  my  sword- 
play.  This  he  now  made  plain  by  the  recklessness 
with  which  he  fenced,  in  his  haste  to  have  done  ere  we 
might  chance  to  be  interrupted.  Of  this  recklessness  I 
suddenly  availed  myself  to  make  an  attempt  at  dis- 


SWORDS!  20I 

arming  him.  I  turned  aside  a  vicious  thrust  by  a  close 
—  a  dangerously  close  —  parry,  and  whilst  in  the  act 
of  encircling  his  blade  I  sought  by  pressure  to  carry  it 
out  of  his  hand.  I  was  within  an  ace  of  succeeding, 
yet  he  avoided  me,  and  doubled  back. 

He  realized  then,  perhaps,  that  I  was  not  quite  so 
contemptible  an  antagonist  as  he  had  been  imagin- 
ing, and  he  went  back  to  his  earlier  and  more  cau- 
tious tactics.  Then  I  changed  my  plans.  I  simulated 
an  attack,  and  drove  him  hard  for  some  moments. 
Strong  he  was,  but  there  were  advantages  of  reach  and 
suppleness  with  me,  and  even  these  advantages  apart, 
had  I  aimed  at  his  life,  I  could  have  made  short  work 
of  him.  But  the  game  I  played  was  fraught  with  perils 
to  myself,  and  once  I  was  in  deadly  danger,  and  ay 
near  death  from  the  sword  as  a  man  may  go  and  live 
My  attack  had  lured  him,  as  I  desired  that  it  should, 
into  making  a  riposte.  He  did  so,  and  as  his  blade 
twisted  round  mine  and  came  slithering  at  me,  I 
again  carried  it  off  by  encircling  it,  and  again  I  exerted 
pressure  to  deprive  him  of  it.  But  this  time  I  was 
farther  from  success  than  before.  He  laughed  at  the 
attempt,  as  with  a  suddenness  that  I  had  been  far  from 
expecting  he  disengaged  again,  and  his  point  darted 
like  a  snake  upwards  at  my  throat. 

I  parried  that  thrust,  but  I  only  parried  it  when  it 
was  within  some  three  inches  of  my  neck,  and  even  as 
I  turned  it  aside  it  missed  me  as  narrowly  as  it  might 
without  tearing  my  skin.  The  imminence  of  the  peril 
had  been  such  that,  as  we  mutually  recovered,  I  found 
a  cold  sweat  bathing  me. 

After  that,  I  resolved  to  abandon  the  attempt  to 
disarm  him  by  pressure,  and  I  turned  my  attention 


202  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

to  drawing  him  into  a  position  that  might  lend  itself 
to  seizure.  But  even  as  I  was  making  up  my  mind  to 
this  —  we  were  engaged  in  sixte  at  the  time  —  I  saw 
a  sudden  chance.  His  point  was  held  low  while  he 
watched  me;  so  low  that  his  arm  was  uncovered  and 
my  point  was  in  line  with  it.  To  see  the  opening,  to 
estimate  it,  and  to  take  my  resolve  was  all  the  work 
of  a  fraction  of  a  second.  The  next  instant  I  had 
straightened  my  elbow,  my  blade  shot  out  in  a  light- 
ning stroke  and  transfixed  his  sword-arm. 

There  was  a  yell  of  pain,  followed  by  a  deep  growl 
of  fury,  as,  wounded  but  not  vanquished,  the  enraged 
Count  caught  his  falling  sword  in  his  left  hand,  and 
whilst  my  own  blade  was  held  tight  in  the  bone  of 
his  right  arm,  he  sought  to  run  me  through.  I  leapt 
quickly  aside,  and  then,  before  he  could  renew  the  at- 
tempt, my  friends  had  fallen  upon  him  and  wrenched 
his  sword  from  his  hand  and  mine  from  his  arm. 

It  would  ill  have  become  me  to  taunt  a  man  in  his 
sorry  condition,  else  might  I  now  have  explained  to 
him  what  I  had  meant  when  I  had  promised  to  leave 
him  for  the  headsman  even  though  I  did  consent  to 
fight  him. 

Mironsac,  Castelroux,  and  La  Fosse  stood  babbling 
around  me,  but  I  paid  no  heed  either  to  Castelroux's 
patois  or  to  La  Fosse's  misquotations  of  classic  au- 
thors. The  combat  had  been  protracted,  and  the 
methods  I  had  pursued  had  been  of  a  very  exhausting 
nature.  I  leaned  now  against  the  porte-cochere,  and 
mopped  myself  vigorously.  Then  Saint-Eustache, 
who  was  engaged  in  binding  up  his  principal's  arm, 
called  to  La  Fosse. 

I  followed  my  second  with  my  eyes  as  he  went 


SWORDS!  ap3 

across  to  Chatellerault.  The  Count  stood  white,  his 
lips  compressed,  no  doubt  from  the  pain  his  arm  was 
causing  him.  Then  his  voice  floated  across  to  me  as 
he  addressed  La  Fosse. 

"You  will  do  me  the  favour,  monsieur,  to  inform 
your  friend  that  this  was  no  first-blood  combat,  but 
one  a  outrance.  I  fence  as  well  with  my  left  arm  as 
with  my  right,  and  if  Monsieur  de  Bardelys  will  do  me 
the  honour  to  engage  again,  I  shall  esteem  it." 

La  Fosse  bowed  and  came  over  with  the  message 
that  already  we  had  heard. 

"I  fought,"  said  I  in  answer,  "in  a  spirit  very 
different  from  that  by  which  Monsieur  de  Chatelle- 
rault appears  to  have  been  actuated.  He  made  it  in- 
cumbent upon  me  to  afford  proof  of  my  courage.  That 
proof  I  have  afforded;  I  decline  to  do  more.  More- 
over, as  Monsieur  de  Chatellerault  himself  must  per- 
ceive, the  light  is  failing  us,  and  in  a  few  minutes  it 
will  be  too  dark  for  sword-play." 

"  In  a  few  minutes  there  will  be  need  for  none,  mon- 
sieur," shouted  Chatellerault,  to  save  time.  He  was 
boastful  to  the  end. 

"Here,  monsieur,  in  any  case,  come  those  who  will 
resolve  the  question,"  I  answered,  pointing  to  the 
door  of  the  inn. 

As  I  spoke,  the  landlord  stepped  into  the  yard, 
followed  by  an  officer  and  a  half-dozen  soldiers. 
These  were  no  ordinary  keepers  of  the  peace,  but 
musketeers  of  the  guard,  and  at  sight  of  them  I  knew 
that  their  business  was  not  to  interrupt  a  duel,  but  to 
arrest  my  erstwhile  opponent  upon  a  much  graver 
charge. 

The  officer  advanced  straight  to  Chatellerault. 


3Q4  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

"In  the  King's  name,  Monsieur  le  Comte,"  said  he. 
"I  demand  your  sword." 

It  may  be  that  at  bottom  I  was  still  a  man  of  soft 
heart,  unfeeling  cynic  though  they  accounted  me;  for 
upon  remarking  the  misery  and  gloom  that  spread 
upon  Chatellerault's  face  I  was  sorry  for  him,  notwith- 
standing the  much  that  he  had  schemed  against  me. 
Of  what  his  fate  would  be  he  could  have  no  shadow  of 
doubt.  He  knew  —  none  better  —  how  truly  the  King 
loved  me,  and  how  he  would  punish  such  an  attempt 
as  had  been  made  upon  my  life,  to  say  nothing  of  the 
prostitution  of  justice  of  which  he  had  been  guilty,  and 
for  which  alone  he  had  earned  the  penalty  of  death. 

He  stood  a  moment  with  bent  head,  the  pain  of 
his  arm  possibly  forgotten  in  the  agony  of  his  spirit. 
Then,  straightening  himself  suddenly,  with  a  proud, 
half-scornful  air,  he  looked  the  officer  straight  be- 
tween the  eyes. 

"You  desire  my  sword,  monsieur?"  he  inquired. 

The  musketeer  bowed  respectfully. 

"Saint-Eustache,  will  you  do  me  the  favour  to  give 
it  to  me?" 

And  while  the  Chevalier  picked  up  the  rapier  from 
the  ground  where  it  had  been  flung,  that  man  waited 
with  an  outward  calm  for  which  at  the  moment  I 
admired  him,  as  we  must  ever  admire  a  tranquil  bear- 
ing in  one  smitten  by  a  great  adversity.  And  than 
this  I  can  conceive  few  greater.  He  had  played  for 
much,  and  he  had  lost  everything.  Ignominy,  degra- 
dation, and  the  block  were  all  that  impended  for  him 
in  this  world,  and  they  were  very  imminent. 

He  took  the  sword  from  the  Chevalier.  He  held  it 
for  a  second  by  the  hilt,  like  one  in  thought,  like  one 


SWORDS!  205 

who  is  resolving  upon  something,  whilst  the  mus- 
keteer awaited  his  good  pleasure  with  that  deference 
which  all  gentle  minds  must  accord  to  the  unfor- 
tunate. 

Still  holding  his  rapier,  he  raised  his  eyes  for  a 
second  and  let  them  rest  on  me  with  a  grim  malev- 
olence. Then  he  uttered  a  short  laugh,  and,  shrug- 
ging his  shoulders,  he  transferred  his  grip  to  the  blade, 
as  if  about  to  offer  the  hilt  to  the  officer.  Holding  it 
so,  halfway  betwixt  point  and  quillons,  he  stepped 
suddenly  back,  and  before  any  there  could  put  forth  a 
hand  to  stay  him,  he  had  set  the  pummel  on  the 
ground  and  the  point  at  his  breast,  and  so  dropped 
upon  it  and  impaled  himself. 

A  cry  went  up  from  every  throat,  and  we  sprang 
towards  him.  He  rolled  over  on  his  side,  and  with  a 
grin  of  exquisite  pain,  yet  in  words  of  unconquerable 
derision  — 

"You  may  have  my  sword  now,  Monsieur  TOffi- 
cier,"  he  said,  and  sank  back,  swooning. 

With  an  oath,  the  musketeer  stepped  forward.  He 
obeyed  Chatellerault  to  the  letter,  by  kneeling  beside 
him  and  carefully  withdrawing  the  sword.  Then  he 
ordered  a  couple  of  his  men  to  take  up  the  body. 

"Is  he  dead?"  asked  some  one;  and  some  one  else 
replied,  "Not  yet:  but  he  soon  will  be." 

Two  of  the  musketeers  bore  him  into  the  inn  and 
laid  him  on  the  floor  of  the  very  room  in  which,  an 
hour  or  so  ago,  he  had  driven  a  bargain  with  Roxa- 
lanne.  A  cloak  rolled  into  a  pillow  was  thrust  under 
his  head,  and  there  we  left  him  in  charge  of  his  cap- 
tors, the  landlord,  Saint-Eustache,  and  La  Fosse  — 
the  latter  inspired,  I  doubt  not,  by  that  morbidity 


2o6  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

which  is  so  often  a  feature  of  the  poetic  mind,  and 
which  impelled  him  now  to  witness  the  death-agony 
of  my  Lord  of  Chatellerault. 

Myself,  having  resumed  my  garments,  I  disposed 
myself  to  repair  at  once  to  the  Hotel  de  I'Epee,  there 
to  seek  Roxalanne,  that  I  might  set  her  fears  and 
sorrows  at  rest,  and  that  I  might  at  last  make  my 
confession. 

As  we  stepped  out  into  the  street,  where  the  dusk 
was  now  thickening,  I  turned  to  Castelroux  to  inquire 
how  Saint-Eustache  came  into  Chatellerault's  com- 
pany. 

"He  is  of  the  family  of  the  Iscariot,  I  should  opine," 
answered  the  Gascon.  "As  soon  as  he  had  news  that 
Chatellerault  was  come  to  Languedoc  as  the  King's 
Commissioner,  he  repaired  to  him  to  offer  his  services 
in  the  work  of  bringing  rebels  to  justice.  He  urged 
that  his  thorough  acquaintance  with  the  province 
should  render  him  of  value  to  the  King,  as  also  that  he 
had  had  particular  opportunities  of  becoming  ac- 
quainted with  many  treasonable  dealings^ on  the  part 
of  men  whom  the  State  was  far  from  suspecting." 

"Mort  Dieu!"  I  cried,  "I  had  suspected  something 
of  such  a  nature.  You  do  well  to  call  him  of  the  family 
of  the  Iscariot.  He  is  more  so  than  you  imagine.  I 
have  knowledge  of  this  —  ample  knowledge.  He  was 
until  lately  a  rebel  himself,  and  himself  a  follower  of 
Gaston  d'Orleans  —  though  of  a  lukewarm  quality. 
What  reasons  have  driven  him  to  such  work,  do  you 
know?" 

"The  same  reason  that  impelled  his  forefather, 
Judas  of  old.  The  desire  to  enrich  himself.  For  every 
hitherto   unsuspected   rebel   that  shall  be  brought 


SWORDS!  207 

to  justice  and  whose  treason  shall  be  proven  by  his 
agency,  he  claims  the  half  of  that  rebel's  confiscated 
estates." 

"Diable!"  I  exclaimed.  "And  does  the  Keeper  of 
the  Seals  sanction  this?" 

"Sanction  it?  Saint-Eustache  holds  a  commission, 
has  a  free  hand  and  a  company  of  horse  to  follow  him 
in  his  rebel-hunting." 

"Has  he  done  much  so  far?"  was  my  next  question. 

"He  has  reduced  half  a  dozen  noblemen  and  their 
families.  The  wealth  he  must  thereby  have  amassed 
should  be  very  considerable,  indeed." 

"To-morrow,.Castelroux,  I  will  see  the  King  in  con- 
nection with  this  pretty  gentleman,  and  not  only  shall 
we  find  him  a  dungeon  deep  and  dank,  but  we  shall  see 
that  he  disgorges  his  blood-money." 

"If  you  can  prove  his  treason  you  will  be  doing 
blessed  work,"  returned  Castelroux.  "Until  to-mor- 
row, then,  for  here  is  the  Hotel  de  I'Epee." 

From  the  broad  doorway  of  an  imposing  building  a 
warm  glow  of  light  issued  out  and  spread  itself  fan- 
wise  across  the  ill-paved  street.  In  this  —  like  bats 
about  a  lamp  —  flitted  the  black  figures  of  gaping 
urchins  and  other  stragglers,  and  into  this  I  now 
passed,  having  taken  leave  of  my  companions. 

I  mounted  the  steps  and  I  was  about  to  cross  the 
threshold,  when  suddenly  above  a  burst  of  laughter 
that  greeted  my  ears  I  caught  the  sound  of  a  singu- 
larly familiar  voice.  This  seemed  raised  at  present 
to  address  such  company  as  might  be  within.  One 
moment  of  doubt  had  I  —  for  it  was  a  month  since  last 
I  had  heard  those  soft,  unctuous  accents.  Then  I  was 
assured  that  the  voice  I  heard  was,  indeed,  the  voice 


ao8  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

of  my  steward  Ganymede.  Castelroux's  messenger 
had  found  him  at  last,  it  seemed,  and  had  brought  him 
to  Toulouse. 

I  was  moved  to  spring  into  the  room  and  greet  that 
old  retainer  for  whom,  despite  the  gross  and  sensuous 
ways  that  with  advancing  years  were  claiming  him 
more  and  more,  I  had  a  deep  attachment.  But  even  as 
I  was  on  the  point  of  entering,  not  only  his  voice,  but 
the  very  words  that  he  was  uttering  floated  out  to  my 
ears,  and  they  were  of  a  quality  that  held  me  there  to 
play  the  hidden  listener  for  the  second  time  in  my  life 
m  one  and  the  same  day. 


CHAPTER  XVII 
THE  BABBLING  OF  GANYMEDE 

NEVER  until  that  hour,  as  I  stood  in  the  porch  of 
the  Hotel  de  I'Epee,  hearkening  to  my  hench- 
man's narrative  and  to  the  bursts  of  laughter  which 
ever  and  anon  it  provoked  from  his  numerous  listeners, 
had  I  dreamed  of  the  raconteur  talents  which  Rode- 
nard  might  boast.  Yet  was  I  very  far  from  being 
appreciative  now  that  I  discovered  them,  for  the 
story  that  he  told  was  of  how  one  Marcel  Saint- 
Pol,  Marquis  de  Bardelys,  had  laid  a  wager  with 
the  Comte  de  Chatellerault  that  he  would  woo  and 
win  Mademoiselle  de  Lavedan  to  wife  within  three 
months.  Nor  did  he  stop  there.  Rodenard,  it  would 
seem,  was  well  informed;  he  had  drawn  all  knowl- 
edge of  the  state  of  things  from  Castelroux's  mes- 
senger, and  later  —  I  know  not  from  whom  —  at 
Toulouse,  since  his  arrival. 

He  regaled  the  company,  therefore,  with  a  recital  of 
our  finding  the  dying  Lesperon,  and  of  how  I  had  gone 
off  alone,  and  evidently  assumed  the  name  and  role  of 
that  proscribed  rebel,  and  thus  conducted  my  wooing 
under  sympathy-inspiring  circumstances  at  Lavedan. 
Then  came,  he  announced,  the  very  cream  of  the  jest, 
when  I  was  arrested  as  Lesperon  and  brought  to  Tou- 
louse and  to  trial  in  Lesperon's  stead;  he  told  them 
how  I  had  been  sentenced  to  death  in  the  other  man's 
place,  and  he  assured  them  that  I  would  certainly 
have  been  beheaded  upon  the  morrow  but  that  news 


aio  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

had  been  borne  to  him  —  Rodenard  —  of  my  plight, 
and  he  was  come  to  deliver  me. 

My  first  impulse  upon  hearing  him  tell  of  the  wager 
had  been  to  stride  into  the  room  and  silence  him  by 
my  coming.  That  I  did  not  obey  that  impulse  was 
something  that  presently  I  was  very  bitterly  to  re- 
gret. How  it  came  that  I  did  not  I  scarcely  know.  I 
was  tempted,  perhaps,  to  see  how  far  this  henchman 
whom  for  years  I  had  trusted  was  unworthy  of  that 
trust.  And  so,  there  in  the  porch,  I  stayed  until  he  had 
ended  by  telling  the  company  that  he  was  on  his  way 
to  inform  the  King  —  who  by  great  good  chance  was 
that  day  arrived  in  Toulouse  —  of  the  mistake  that 
had  been  made,  and  thus  obtain  my  immediate  en- 
largement and  earn  my  undying  gratitude. 

Again  I  was  on  the  point  of  entering  to  administer  a 
very  stern  reproof  to  that  talkative  rogue,  when  of  a 
sudden  there  was  a  commotion  within.  I  caught  a 
scraping  of  chairs,  a  dropping  of  voices,  and  then 
suddenly  I  found  myself  confronted  by  Roxalanne  de 
Lavedan  herself,  issuing  with  a  page  and  a  woman  in 
attendance. 

For  just  a  second  her  eyes  rested  on  me,  and  the 
light  coming  through  the  doorway  at  her  back  boldly 
revealed  my  countenance.  And  a  very  startled  counte- 
nance it  must  have  been,  for  in  that  fraction  of  time  I 
knew  that  she  had  heard  all  that  Rodenard  had  been 
relating.  Under  that  instant's  glance  of  her  eyes  I  felt 
myself  turn  pale;  a  shiver  ran  through  me,  and  the 
sweat  started  cold  upon  my  brow.  Then  her  gaze 
passed  from  me,  and  looked  beyond  into  the  street,  as 
though  she  had  not  known  me;  whether  in  her  turn 
she  paled  or  reddened  I  cannot  say,  for  the  light  was 


THE  BABBLING  OF  GANYMEDE  211 

too  uncertain.  Next  followed  what  seemed  to  me  an 
interminable  pause,  although,  indeed,  it  can  have  been 
no  more  than  a  matter  of  seconds  —  aye,  and  of  but 
few.  Then,  her  gown  drawn  well  aside,  she  passed  me 
in  that  same  irrecognizing  way,  whilst  I,  abashed, 
shrank  back  into  the  shadows  of  the  porch,  burning 
with  shame  and  rage  and  humiliation. 

From  under  her  brows  her  woman  glanced  at  me  in- 
quisitively; her  liveried  page,  his  nose  in  the  air,  eyed 
me  so  pertly  that  I  was  hard  put  to  it  not  to  hasten 
with  my  foot  his  descent  of  the  steps. 

At  last  they  were  gone,  and  from  the  outside  the 
shrill  voice  of  her  page  was  wafted  to  me.  He  was 
calling  to  the  ostler  for  her  carriage.  Standing,  in  my 
deep  mortification,  where  she  had  passed  me,  I  con- 
jectured from  that  demand  that  she  was  journeying  to 
Lavedan. 

She  knew  now  how  she  had  been  cheated  on  every 
hand,  first  by  me  and  later,  that  very  afternoon,  by 
Chatellerault,  and  her  resolve  to  quit  Toulouse  could 
but  signify  that  she  was  done  with  me  for  good.  That 
it  had  surprised  her  to  find  me  at  large  already,  I 
fancied  I  had  seen  in  her  momentary  glance,  but  her 
pride  had  been  quick  to  conquer  and  stifle  all  signs  of 
that  surprise. 

I  remained  where  she  had  passed  me  until  her 
coach  had  rumbled  away  into  the  night,  and  during 
the  moments  that  elapsed  I  had  stood  arguing  with 
myself  and  resolving  upon  my  course  of  action.  But 
despair  was  fastening  upon  me^ 

I  had  come  to  the  Hotel  de  I'Epee,  exulting,  joyous, 
and  confident  of  victory.  I  had  come  to  confess  every- 
thing to  her,  and  by  virtue  of  what  I  had  done  that 


212  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIHCENT 

confession  was  rendered  easy.  I  could  have  said  to 
her:  "The  woman  whom  I  wagered  to  win  was  not 
you,  Roxalanne,  but  a  certain  Mademoiselle  de  Lave- 
dan.  Your  love  I  have  won,  but  that  you  may  foster 
no  doubts  of  my  intentions,  I  have  paid  my  wager  and 
acknowledge  defeat.  I  have  made  over  to  Chatelle- 
rault  and  to  his  heirs  for  all  time  my  estates  of  Bar- 
delys." 

Oh,  I  had  rehearsed  it  in  my  mind,  and  I  was 
confident  —  I  knew  —  that  I  should  win  her.  And 
now  —  the  disclosure  of  that  shameful  traffic  coming 
from  other  lips  than  mine  had  ruined  everything  by 
forestalling  my  avowal. 

Rodenard  should  pay  for  it  —  by  God,  he  should! 
Once  again  did  I  become  a  prey  to  the  passion  of  anger 
which  I  have  ever  held  to  be  unworthy  in  a  gentleman, 
but  to  which  it  would  seem  that  I  was  growing  ac- 
customed to  give  way.  The  ostler  was  mounting  the 
steps  at  the  moment.  He  carried  in  his  hand  a  stout 
horsewhip  with  a  long  knotted  thong.  Hastily  mutter- 
ing a  "By  your  leave,"  I  snatched  it  from  him  and 
sprang  into  the  room. 

My  intendant  was  still  talking  of  me.  The  room 
was  crowded,  for  Rodenard  alone  had  brought  with 
him  my  twenty  followers.  One  of  these  looked  up  as  I 
brushed  past  him,  and  uttered  a  cry  of  surprise  upon 
recognizing  me.  But  Rodenard  talked  on,  engrossed 
in  his  theme  to  the  exclusion  of  all  else. 

"  Monsieur  le  Marquis,"  he  was  saying, "  is  a  gentle- 
man whom  it  is,  indeed,  an  honour  to  serve  — " 

A  scream  burst  from  him  with  the  last  word,  for  the 
lash  of  my  whip  had  burnt  a  wheal  upon  his  well-fed 
sides. 


THE  BABBLING  OF  GANYMEDE         213 

"It  is  an  honour  that  shall  be  yours  no  more,  you 
dog!"  I  cried. 

He  leapt  high  into  the  air  as  my  whip  cut  him  again. 
He  swung  round,  his  face  twisted  with  pain,  his  flabby 
cheeks  white  with  fear,  and  his  eyes  wild  with  anger, 
for  as  yet  the  full  force  of  the  situation  had  not  been 
borne  in  upon  him.  Then,  seeing  me  there,  and  catch- 
ing something  of  the  awful  passion  that  must  have 
been  stamped  upon  my  face,  he  dropped  on  his  knees 
and  cried  out  something  that  I  did  not  understand  — 
for  I  was  past  understanding  much  just  then. 

The  lash  whistled  through  the  air  again  and  caught 
him  about  the  shoulders.  He  writhed  and  roared  in 
his  anguish  of  both  flesh  and  spirit.  But  I  was  pitiless. 
He  had  ruined  my  life  for  me  with  his  talking,  and,  as 
God  lived,  he  should  pay  the  only  price  that  it  lay  in 
his  power  to  pay  —  the  price  of  physical  sufi^ering. 
Again  and  again  my  whip  hissed  about  his  head  and 
cut  into  his  soft  white  flesh,  whilst  roaring  for  mercy 
he  moved  and  rocked  on  his  knees  before  me.  In- 
stinctively he  approached  me  to  hamper  my  move- 
ments, whilst  I  moved  back  to  give  my  lash  the  better 
play.  He  held  out  his  arms  and  joined  his  fat  hands  in 
supplication,  but  the  lash  caught  them  in  its  sinuous 
tormenting  embrace,  and  started  a  red  wheal  across 
their  whiteness.  He  tucked  them  into  his  armpits  with 
a  scream,  and  fell  prone  upon  the  ground. 

Then  I  remember  that  some  of  my  men  essayed  to 
restrain  me,  which  to  my  passion  was  as  the  wind  to  a 
blaze.  I  cracked  my  whip  about  their  heads,  com- 
manding them  to  keep  their  distance  lest  they  were 
minded  to  share  his  castigation.  And  so  fearful  an  air 
must  I  have  worn,  that,  daunted,  they  hung  back  and 
watched  their  leader's  punishment  in  silence. 


214  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

When  I  think  of  it  now,  I  take  no  little  shame  at  the 
memory  of  how  I  beat  him.  It  is,  indeed,  with  deep 
reluctance  and  yet  deeper  shame  that  I  have  brought 
myself  to  write  of  it.  If  I  offend  you  with  this  account 
of  that  horsewhipping,  let  necessity  be  my  apology; 
for  the  horsewhipping  itself  I  have,  unfortunately, 
no  apology,  save  the  blind  fury  that  obsessed  me  — 
which  is  no  apology  at  all. 

Upon  the  morrow  I  repented  me  already  with  much 
bitterness.  But  in  that  hour  I  knew  no  reason.  I 
was  mad,  and  of  my  madness  was  born  this  harsh 
brutality. 

"You  would  talk  of  me  and  my  affairs  in  a  tavern, 
you  hound!"  I  cried,  out  of  breath  both  by  virtue  of 
my  passion  and  my  exertions.  "Let  the  memory  of 
this  act  as  a  curb  upon  your  poisonous  tongue  in 
future." 

"  Monseigneur ! "  he  screamed.  "  Misericorde,  mon- 
seigneur!" 

"Aye,  you  shall  have  mercy  — just  so  much  mercy 
as  you  deserve.  Have  I  trusted  you  all  these  years, 
and  did  my  father  triist  you  before  me,  for  this?  Have 
you  grown  sleek  and  fat  and  smug  in  my  service  that 
you  should  requite  me  thus?  Sangdieu,  Rodenard! 
My  father  had  hanged  you  for  the  half  of  the  talk- 
ing that  you  have  done  this  night.  You  dog!  You 
miserable  knave!" 

"Monseigneur,"  he  shrieked  again,  "forgive!  For 
your  sainted  mother's  sake,  forgive!  Monseigneur,  I 
did  not  know  — " 

"  But  you  are  learning,  cur;  you  are  learning  by  the 
pain  of  your  fat  carcase;  is  it  not  so,  carrion?" 

He  sank  down,  his  strength  exhausted,  a  limp, 


THE  BABBLING  OF  GANYMEDE  215 

moaning,  bleeding  mass  of  flesh,  into  which  my  whip 
still  cut  relentlessly. 

I  have  a  picture  in  my  mind  of  that  ill-lighted  room, 
of  the  startled  faces  on  which  the  flickering  glimmer  of 
the  candles  shed  odd  shadows;  of  the  humming  and 
cracking  of  my  whip;  of  my  own  voice  raised  in  oaths 
and  epithets  of  contempt;  of  Rodenard's  screams;  of 
the  cries  raised  here  and  there  in  remonstrance  or  in 
entreaty,  and  of  some  more  bold  that  called  shame 
upon  me.  Then  others  took  up  that  cry  of  "Shame!" 
so  that  at  last  I  paused  and  stood  there  drawn  up  to 
my  full  height,  as  if  in  challenge.  Towering  above  the 
heads  of  any  in  that  room,  I  held  my  whip  menacingly. 
I  was  unused  to  criticism,  and  their  expressions  of 
condemnation  roused  me. 

"Who  questions  my  right?"  I  demanded  arro- 
gantly, whereupon  they  one  and  all  fell  silent.  "If 
any  here  be  bold  enough  to  step  out,  he  shall  have 
my  answer."  Then,  as  none  responded,  I  signified  my 
contempt  for  them  by  a  laugh. 

"Monseigneur!"  wailed  Rodenard  at  my  feet,  his 
voice  growing  feeble. 

By  way  of  answer,  I  gave  him  a  final  cut,  then  I 
flung  the  whip  —  which  had  grown  ragged  in  the  fray 
—  back  to  the  ostler  from  whom  I  had  borrowed  it. 

"Let  that  suffice  you,  Rodenard,"  I  said,  touching 
him  with  my  foot.  "See  that  I  never  set  eyes  upon 
you  again,  if  you  cherish  your  miserable  life!" 

"Not  that,  monseigneur!"  groaned  the  wretch. 
"Oh,  not  that!  You  have  punished  me;  you  have 
whipped  me  until  I  cannot  stand;  forgive  me,  mon- 
seigneur, forgive  me  now!" 

"  I  have  forgiven  you,  but  I  never  wish  to  see  you 


2i6  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

again,  lest  I  should  forget  that  I  have  forgiven  you. 
Take  him  away,  some  of  you,"  I  bade  my  men,  and  in 
swift,  silent  obedience  two  of  them  stepped  forward 
and  bore  the  groaning,  sobbing  fellow  from  the  room. 
When  that  was  done  — 

"Host,"  I  commanded,  "prepare  me  a  room. 
Attend  me,  a  couple  of  you." 

I  gave  orders  thereafter  for  the  disposal  of  my 
baggage,  some  of  which  my  lacqueys  brought  up  to 
the  chamber  that  the  landlord  had  in  haste  made 
ready  for  me.  In  that  chamber  I  sat  until  very  late,  a 
prey  to  the  utmost  misery  and  despair.  My  rage  being 
spent,  I  might  have  taken  some  thought  for  poor 
Ganymede  and  his  condition,  but  my  own  affairs 
crowded  over-heavily  upon  my  mind,  and  sat  the  un- 
disputed rulers  of  my  thoughts  that  night. 

At  one  moment  I  considered  journeying  to  Lavedan, 
only  to  dismiss  the  idea  the  next.  What  could  it  avail 
me  now?  Would  Roxalanne  believe  the  tale  I  had  to 
tell?  Would  she  not  think,  naturally  enough,  that  I 
was  but  making  the  best  of  the  situation,  and  that  my 
avowal  of  the  truth  of  a  story  which  it  was  not  in  my 
power  to  deny  was  not  spontaneous,  but  forced  from 
me  by  circumstances?  No,  there  was  nothing  more  to 
be  done.  A  score  of  amours  had  claimed  my  attention 
in  the  past  and  received  it;  yet  there  was  not  one  of 
those  affairs  whose  miscarriage  would  have  afforded 
me  the  slightest  concern  or  mortification.  It  seemed 
like  an  irony,  like  a  Dies  irce,  that  it  should  have  been 
left  to  this  first  true  passion  of  my  life  to  have  gone 
awry. 

I  slept  ill  when  at  last  I  sought  my  bed,  and  through 
the  night  I  nursed  my  bitter  grief,  huddling  to  me  the 


THE  BABBLING  OF  GANYM£DE  217 

corpse  of  the  love  she  had  borne  me  as  a  mother  may 
the  corpse  of  her  first-born. 

On  the  morrow  I  resolved  to  leave  Toulouse  —  to 
quit  this  province  wherein  so  much  had  befallen  me  — 
and  repair  to  Beaugency,  there  to  grow  old  in  misan- 
thropical seclusion.  I  had  done  with  Courts,  I  had 
done  with  love  and  with  women;  I  had  done,  it  seemed 
to  me,  with  life  itself.  Prodigal  had  it  been  in  gifts 
that  I  had  not  sought  of  it.  It  had  spread  my  table 
with  the  richest  offerings,  but  they  had  been  little  to 
my  palate,  and  I  had  nauseated  quickly.  And  now, 
when  here  in  this  remote  corner  of  France  it  had 
shown  me  the  one  prize  I  coveted,  it  had  been  swift  to 
place  it  beyond  my  reach,  thereby  sowing  everlasting 
discontent  and  misery  in  my  hitherto  pampered  heart. 

I  saw  Castelroux  that  day,  but  I  said  no  word  to  him 
of  my  affliction.  He  brought  me  news  of  Chatellerault. 
The  Count  was  lying  in  a  dangerous  condition  at  the 
Auberge  Royale,  and  might  not  be  moved.  The 
physician  attending  him  all  but  despaired  of  his  life. 

"He  is  asking  to  see  you,"  said  Castelroux. 

But  I  was  not  minded  to  respond.  For  all  that  he 
had  deeply  wronged  me,  for  all  that  I  despised  him 
very  cordially,  the  sight  of  him  in  his  present  condition 
might  arouse  my  pity,  and  I  was  in  no  mood  to  waste 
upon  such  a  one  as  Chatellerault  —  even  on  his  death- 
bed —  a  quality  of  which  I  had  so  dire  a  need  just 
then  for  my  own  case. 

"  I  will  not  go,"  said  I,  after  deliberation.  "Tell  him 
from  me  that  I  forgive  him  freely  —  if  it  be  that  he 
seeks  my  forgiveness;  tell  him  that  I  bear  him  no 
rancour,  and  —  that  he  had  better  make  his  will,  to 
save  me  trouble  hereafter,  if  he  should  chance  to  die." 


2i8  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

I  said  this  because  I  had  no  mind,  if  he  should 
perish  intestate,  to  go  in  quest  of  his  next  heirs  and 
advise  them  that  my  late  Picardy  estates  were  now 
their  property. 

Castelroux  sought  yet  to  persuade  me  to  visit  the 
Count,  but  I  held  firmly  to  my  resolve. 

"I  am  leaving  Toulouse  to-day,"  I  announced. 

"Whither  do  you  go?" 

"To  hell,  or  to  Beaugency  —  I  scarce  know  which, 
nor  does  it  matter." 

He  looked  at  me  in  surprise,  but,  being  a  man  of 
breeding,  asked  no  questions  upon  matters  that  he 
accounted  secret. 

"But  the  King?"  he  ventured  presently. 

"His  Majesty  has  already  dispensed  me  from  my 
duties  by  him." 

Nevertheless,  I  did  not  go  that  day.  I  maintained 
the  intention  until  sunset;  then,  seeing  that  it  was  too 
late,  I  postponed  my  departure  until  the  morrow.  I 
can  assign  no  reason  for  my  dallying  mood.  Perhaps  it 
sprang  from  the  inertness  that  pervaded  me,  perhaps 
some  mysterious  hand  detained  me.  Be  that  as  it  may, 
that  I  remained  another  night  at  the  Hotel  de  I'Epee 
was  one  of  those  contingencies  which,  though  slight 
and  seemingly  inconsequential  in  themselves,  lead  to 
great  issues.  Had  I  departed  that  day  for  Beaugency, 
it  is  likely  that  you  had  never  heard  of  me  —  least- 
ways, not  from  my  own  pen  —  for  in  what  so  far  I 
have  told  you,  without  that  which  is  to  follow,  there 
is  haply  little  that  was  worth  the  labour  of  setting 
down. 

In  the  morning,  then,  I  set  out;  but  having  started 
late,  we  got  no  farther  than  Grenade,  where  we  lay  the 


THE  BABBLING  OF  GANYM5:DE  219 

night  once  more  at  the  Hotel  de  la  Couronne.  And 
so,  through  having  delayed  my  departure  by  a  single 
day,  did  it  come  to  pass  that  a  message  reached  me  be- 
fore it  might  have  been  too  late. 

It  was  high  noon  of  the  morrow.  Our  horses  stood 
saddled;  indeed,  some  of  my  men  were  already 
mounted  —  for  I  was  not  minded  to  disband  them 
until  Beaugency  was  reached  —  and  my  two  coaches 
were  both  ready  for  the  journey.  The  habits  of  a  life- 
time are  not  so  easy  to  abandon  even  when  Necessity 
raises  her  compelling  voice. 

I  was  in  the  act  of  settling  my  score  with  the  land- 
lord when  of  a  sudden  there  were  quick  steps  in  the 
passage,  the  clank  of  a  rapier  against  the  wall,  and  a 
voice  —  the  voice  of  Castelroux  —  calling  excitedly  — 

"Bardelys!  Monsieur  de  Bardelys!" 

"What  brings  you  here?"  I  cried  in  greeting,  as  he 
stepped  into  the  room. 

"Are  you  still  for  Beaugency?"  he  asked  sharply, 
throwing  back  his  head. 

"Why,  yes,"  I  answered,  wondering  at  this  excite- 
ment. 

"Then  you  have  seen  nothing  of  Saint-Eustache 
and  his  men?" 

"Nothing." 

"Yet  they  must  have  passed  this  way  not  many 
hours  ago."  Then  tossing  his  hat  on  the  table  and 
Sf>eaking  with  sudden  vehemence:  "If  you  have  any 
interest  in  the  family  of  Lavedan,  you  will  return  upon 
the  instant  to  Toulouse." 

The  mention  of  Lavedan  was  enough  to  quicken  my 
pulses.  Yet  in  the  past  two  days  I  had  mastered  resig- 
nation, and  in  doing  that  we  school  ourselves  to  much 


220  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

restraint.  I  turned  slowly,  and  surveyed  the  little 
Captain  attentively.  His  black  eyes  sparkled,  and  his 
moustaches  bristled  with  excitement.  Clearly  he  had 
news  of  import.   I  turned  to  the  landlord. 

"Leave  us,  Monsieur  I'Hote,"  said  I  shortly;  and 
when  he  had  departed,  "What  of  the  Lavedan  family, 
Castelroux.''"  I  inquired  as  calmly  as  I  might. 

"The  Chevalier  de  Saint-Eustache  left  Toulouse  at 
six  o'clock  this  morning  for  Lavedan." 

Swift  the  suspicion  of  his  errand  broke  upon  my 
mind. 

"He  has  betrayed  the  Vicomte?"  I  half  inquiredj 
half  asserted. 

Castelroux:^ nodded.  "He  has  obtained  a  warrant 
for  his  apprehension  from  the  Keeper  of  the  Seals,  and 
is  gone  to  execute  it.  In  the  course  of  a  few  days  Lave- 
dan will  be  in  danger  of  being  no  more  than  a  name. 
This  Saint-Eustache  is  driving  a  brisk  trade,  by  God, 
and  some  fine  prizes  have  already  fallen  to  his  lot. 
But  if  you  add  them  all  together,  they  are  not  likely  to 
yield  as  much  as  this  his  latest  expedition.  Unless 
you  intervene,  Bardelys,  the  Vicomte  de  Lavedan  is 
doomed  and  his  family  houseless." 

"I  will  intervene,"  I  cried.  "By  God,  I  will!  And  as 
for  Saint-Eustache  —  he  was  born  under  a  propitious 
star,  indeed,  if  he  escapes  the  gallows.  He  little 
dreams  that  I  am  still  to  be  reckoned  with.  There, 
Castelroux,  I  will  start  for  Lavedan  at  once." 

Already  I  was  striding  to  the  door,  when  the  Gascon 
called  me  back. 

"What  good  will  that  do.''"  he  asked.  "Were  it  not 
better  first  to  return  to  Toulouse  and  obtain  a  counter- 
warrant  from  the  King?" 


THE  BABBLING  OF  GANYMEDE  221 

There  was  wisdom  in  his  words  —  much  wisdom. 
But  my  blood  was  afire,  and  I  was  in  too  hot  a  haste  to 
reason. 

"Return  to  Toulouse?"  I  echoed  scornfully.  "A 
waste  of  time,  Captain.  No,  I  will  go  straight  to 
Lavedan.  I  need  no  counter-warrant.  I  know  too 
much  of  this  Chevalier's  affairs,  and  my  very  presence 
should  be  enough  to  stay  his  hand.  He  is  as  foul  a 
traitor  as  you'll  find  in  France;  but  for  the  moment 
God  bless  him  for  a  very  opportune  knave.  Gilles!"  I 
called,  throwing  wide  the  door.   "Gilles!" 

"  Monseigneur,"  he  answered,  hastening  to  me. 

"Put  back  the  carriages  and  saddle  me  a  horse,"  I 
commanded.  "And  bid  your  fellows  mount  at  once 
and  await  me  in  the  courtyard.  We  are  not  going  to 
Beaugency,  Gilles.  We  ride  north  —  to  Lav6dan." 


CHAPTER  XVIII 
SAINT-EUSTACHE  IS  OBSTINATE 

ON  the  occasion  of  my  first  visit  to  Lavedan  I  had 
disregarded  —  or,  rather,  Fate  had  contrived 
that  I  should  disregard  —  Chatellerault's  suggestion 
that  I  should  go  with  all  the  panoply  of  power  —  with 
my  followers,  my  liveries,  and  my  equipages  to  com- 
pose the  magnificence  all  France  had  come  to  associate 
with  my  name,  and  thus  dazzle  by  my  brilliant  lustre 
the  lady  I  was  come  to  win.  As  you  may  remember,  I 
had  crept  into  the  chateau  like  a  thief  in  the  night, 
wounded,  bedraggled,  and  of  miserable  aspect,  seek- 
ing to  provoke  compassion  rather  than  admiration. 

Not  so  now  that  I  made  my  second  visit.  I  availed 
myself  of  all  the  splendour  to  which  I  owed  my  title 
of  "Magnificent,"  and  rode  into  the  courtyard  of 
the  Chateau  de  Lavedan  preceded  by  twenty  well- 
mounted  knaves  wearing  the  gorgeous  Saint-Pol 
liveries  of  scarlet  and  gold,  with  the  Bardelys  es- 
cutcheon broidered  on  the  breasts  of  their  doublets 
—  on  a  field  or  a  bar  azure  surcharged  by  three  lilies 
of  the  field.  They  were  armed  with  swords  and  mus- 
ketoons,  and  had  more  the  air  of  a  royal  bodyguard 
than  of  a  company  of  attendant  servants. 

Our  coming  was  in  a  way  well  timed.  I  doubt  if  we 
could  have  stayed  the  execution  of  Saint-Eustache's 
warrant  even  had  we  arrived  earlier.  But  for  effect  — 
to  produce  a  striking  coup  de  theatre  —  we  could  not 
have  come  more  opportunely. 


SAINT-EUSTACHE  IS  OBSTINATE         223 

A  coach  stood  in  the  quadrangle,  at  the  foot  of  the 
chateau  steps:  down  these  the  Vicomte  was  descend- 
ing, with  the  Vicomtesse  —  grim  and  blasphemant  as 
ever  —  on  one  side,  and  his  daughter,  white  of  face  and 
with  tightly  compressed  lips,  on  the  other.  Between 
these  two  women  —  his  wife  and  his  child  —  as  dif- 
ferent in  body  as  they  were  different  in  soul,  came 
Lavedan  with  a  firm  step,  a  good  colour,  and  a  look  of 
well-bred,  lofty  indifference  to  his  fate. 

He  disposed  himself  to  enter  the  carriage  which  was 
to  bear  him  to  prison  with  much  the  same  air  he  would 
have  assumed  had  his  destination  been  a  royal  levee. 

Around  the  coach  were  grouped  a  score  of  men 
of  Saint-Eustache's  company  —  half  soldiers,  half 
ploughboys  —  ill-garbed  and  indifferently  accoutred 
in  dull  breastplates  and  steel  caps,  many  of  which 
were  rusted.  By  the  carriage  door  stood  the  long, 
lank  figure  of  the  Chevalier  himself,  dressed  with  his 
wonted  care,  and  perfumed,  curled,  and  beribboned 
beyond  belief.  His  weak,  boyish  face  sought  by 
scowls  and  by  the  adoption  of  a  grim  smile  to  assume 
an  air  of  martial  ferocity. 

Such  was  the  grouping  in  the  quadrangle  when  my 
men,  with  Gilles  at  their  head,  thundered  across  the 
drawbridge,  giving  pause  to  those  within,  and  draw- 
ing upon  themselves  the  eyes  of  all,  as  they  rode,  two 
by  two,  under  the  old-world  arch  of  the  keep  into  the 
courtyard.  And  Gilles,  who  knew  our  errand,  and  who 
was  as  ready-witted  a  rogue  as  ever  rode  with  me,  took 
in  the  situation  at  a  glance.  Knowing  how  much  I 
desired  to  make  a  goodly  show,  he  whispered  an  order. 
This  resulted  in  the  couples  dividing  at  the  gateway, 
one  going  to  the  left  and  one  to  the  right,  so  that  as 


t34  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

they  came  they  spread  themselves  in  a  crescent,  and, 
drawing  rein,  they  faced  forward,  confronting  and 
half  surrounding  the  Chevalier's  company. 

As  each  couple  appeared,  the  curiosity  —  the  un- 
easiness, probably  —  of  Saint-Eustache  and  his  men 
had  increased,  and  their  expectancy  was  on  tiptoe  to 
see  what  lord  it  was  went  abroad  with  such  regal 
pomp,  when  I  appeared  in  the  gateway  and  advanced 
at  the  trot  into  the  middle  of  the  quadrangle.  There  I 
drew  rein  and  doffed  my  hat  to  them  as  they  stood, 
open-mouthed  and  gaping  one  and  all.  If  it  was  a 
theatrical  display,  a  parade  worthy  of  a  tilt-ground,  it 
was  yet  a  noble  and  imposing  advent,  and  their  gaping 
told  me  that  it  was  not  without  effect.  The  men 
looked  uneasily  at  the  Chevalier;  the  Chevalier  looked 
uneasily  at  his  men;  mademoiselle,  very  pale,  lowered 
her  eyes  and  pressed  her  lips  yet  more  tightly;  the 
Vicomtesse  uttered  an  oath  of  astonishment;  whilst 
Lavedan,  too  dignified  to  manifest  surprise,  greeted 
me  with  a  sober  bow. 

Behind  them  on  the  steps  I  caught  sight  of  a  group 
of  domestics,  old  Anatole  standing  slightly  in  advance 
of  his  fellows,  and  wondering,  no  doubt,  whether  this 
were,  indeed,  the  bedraggled  Lesperon  of  a  little  while 
ago  —  for  if  I  had  thought  of  pomp  in  the  display  of 
my  lacqueys,  no  less  had  I  considered  it  in  the  decking 
of  my  own  person.  Without  any  of  the  ribbons  and 
fopperies  that  mark  the  coxcomb,  yet  was  I  clad, 
plumed,  and  armed  with  a  magnificence  such  as  I'll 
swear  had  not  been  seen  within  the  grey  walls  of  that 
old  castle  in  the  lifetime  of  any  of  those  that  were  now 
present. 

Gilles  leapt  from  his  horse  as  I  drew  rein,  and 


SAINT-EUSTACHE  IS  OBSTINATE         225 

hastened  to  hold  my  stirrup,  with  a  murmured  "Mon- 
seigneur,"  which  title  drew  a  fresh  astonishment  into 
the  eyes  of  the  beholders. 

I  advanced  leisurely  towards  Saint-Eustache,  and 
addressed  him  with  such  condescension  as  I  might  a 
groom,  for  to  impress  and  quell  a  man  of  this  type 
your  best  weapon  is  the  arrogance  that  a  nobler  spirit 
would  resent. 

"A  world  of  odd  meetings  this,  Saint-Eustache,"  I 
smiled  disdainfully.  "A  world  of  strange  comings  and 
goings,  and  of  strange  transformations.  The  last  time 
we  were  here  we  stood  mutually  as  guests  of  Monsieur 
le  Vicomte;  at  present  you  appear  to  be  officiating  as 
a  —  a  tipstaff." 

"Monsieur!"  He  coloured,  and  he  uttered  the 
word  in  accents  of  awakening  resentment.  I  looked 
into  his  eyes,  coldly,  impassively,  as  if  waiting  to  hear 
what  he  might  have  to  add,  and  so  I  stayed  until  his 
glance  fell  and  his  spirit  was  frozen  in  him.  He  knew 
me,  and  he  knew  how  much  I  was  to  be  feared.  A 
word  from  me  to  the  King  might  send  him  to  the 
wheel.  It  was  upon  this  I  played.  Presently,  as  his 
eye  fell  — 

"  Is  your  business  with  me.  Monsieur  de  Bardelys?" 
he  asked,  and  at  that  utterance  of  my  name  there  was 
a  commotion  on  the  steps,  whilst  the  Vicomte  started, 
and  his  eyes  frowned  upon  me,  and  the  Vicomtesse 
looked  up  suddenly  to  scan  me  with  a  fresh  interest. 
She  beheld  at  last  in  the  flesh  the  gentleman  who  had 
played  so  notorious  a  part,  ten  years  ago,  in  that 
scandal  connected  with  the  Duchesse  de  Bourgogne, 
of  which  she  never  tired  of  reciting  the  details.  And 
think  that  she  had  sat  at  table  with  him  day  by  day 


126  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

and  been  unconscious  of  that  momentous  fact!  Such, 
I  make  no  doubt,  was  what  passed  through  her  mind 
at  the  moment,  and,  to  judge  from  her  expression, 
I  should  say  that  the  excitement  of  beholding  the 
Magnificent  Bardelys  had  for  the  nonce  eclipsed  even 
her  husband's  condition  and  the  imminent  sequestra- 
tion of  Lavedan. 

"My  business  is  with  you.  Chevalier,"  said  I.  "It 
relates  to  your  mission  here." 

His  jaw  fell.  "You  wish  —  ?" 

"To  desire  you  to  withdraw  your  men  and  quit 
Lavedan  at  once,  abandoning  the  execution  of  your 
warrant." 

He  flashed  me  a  look  of  impotent  hate.  "You  know 
of  the  existence  of  my  warrant.  Monsieur  de  Bardelys, 
and  you  must  therefore  realize  that  a  royal  mandate 
alone  can  exempt  me  from  delivering  Monsieur  de 
Lavedan  to  the  Keeper  of  the  Seals." 

"My  only  warrant,"  I  answered,  somewhat  bafiled, 
but  far  from  abandoning  hope,  "is  my  word.  You 
shall  say  to  the  Garde  des  Sceaux  that  you  have  done 
this  upon  the  authority  of  the  Marquis  de  Bardelys, 
and  you  have  my  promise  that  His  Majesty  shall  con- 
firm my  action." 

In  saying  that  I  said  too  much,  as  I  was  quickly  to 
realize. 

"His  Majesty  will  confirm  it,  monsieur?"  he  said 
interrogatively,  and  he  shook  his  head.  "That  is  a 
risk  I  dare  not  run.  My  warrant  sets  me  under  im- 
perative obligations  which  I  must  discharge  —  you 
will  see  the  justice  of  what  I  state." 

His  tone  was  all  humility,  all  subservience,  never- 
theless it  was  firm  to  the  point  of  being  hard.    But  my 


SAINT-EUSTACHE  IS  OBSTINATE         227 

last  card,  the  card  upon  which  I  was  depending,  was 
yet  to  be  played. 

"Will  you  do  me  the  honour  to  step  aside  with  me. 
Chevalier?"  I  commanded  rather  than  besought. 

"At  your  service,  sir,"  said  he;  and  I  drew  him  out 
of  earshot  of  those  others. 

"Now,  Saint-Eustache,  we  can  talk,"  said  I,  with 
an  abrupt  change  of  manner  from  the  coldly  arrogant 
to  the  coldly  menacing.  "I  marvel  greatly  at  your 
temerity  in  pursuing  this  Iscariot  business  after  learn- 
ing who  I  am,  at  Toulouse  two  nights  ago." 

He  clenched  his  hands,  and  his  weak  face  hardened. 

"I  would  beg  you  to  consider  your  expressions, 
monsieur,  and  to  control  them,"  said  he  in  a  thick 
voice. 

I  vouchsafed  him  a  stare  of  freezing  amazement. 
"You  will  no  doubt  remember  in  what  capacity  I  find 
you  employed.  Nay,  keep  your  hands  still,  Saint- 
Eustache.  I  don't  fight  catchpolls,  and  if  you  give  me 
trouble  my  men  are  yonder."  And  I  jerked  my  thumb 
over  my  shoulder.  "And  now  to  business.  I  am  not 
minded  to  talk  all  day.  I  was  saying  that  I  marvel  at 
your  temerity,  and  more  particularly  at  your  having 
laid  information  against  Monsieur  de  Lavedan,  and 
having  come  here  to  arrest  him,  knowing,  as  you  must 
know,  that  I  am  interested  in  the  Vicomte." 

"I  have  heard  of  that  interest,  monsieur,"  said  he, 
with  a  sneer  for  which  I  could  have  struck  him. 

"This  act  of  yours,"  I  pursued,  ignoring  his  inter- 
polation, "savours  very  much  of  flying  in  the  face  of 
Destiny.  It  almost  seems  to  me  as  if  you  were  defying 
me." 

His  lip  trembled,  and  his  eyes  shunned  my  glance. 


228  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

"Indeed  —  indeed,  monsieur — "  he  was  protest- 
ing, when  I  cut  him  short. 

"You  cannot  be  so  great  a  fool  but  that  you  must 
reaHze  that  if  I  tell  the  King  what  I  know  of  you,  you 
will  be  stripped  of  your  ill-gotten  gains,  and  broken  on 
the  wheel  for  a  double  traitor  —  a  betrayer  of  your 
fellow-rebels." 

"But  you  will  not  do  that,  monsieur?"  he  cried. 
"It  would  be  unworthy  in  you." 

At  that  I  laughed  in  his  face.  "Heart  of  God!  Are 
you  to  be  what  you  please,  and  do  you  still  expect 
that  men  shall  be  nice  in  dealing  with  you .''  I  would  do 
this  thing,  and,  by  my  faith,  Monsieur  de  Eustache, 
I  will  do  it,  if  you  compel  me!" 

He  reddened  and  moved  his  foot  uneasily.  Perhaps 
I  did  not  take  the  best  way  with  him,  after  all.  I 
might  have  confined  myself  to  sowing  fear  in  his  heart; 
that  alone  might  have  had  the  effect  I  desired;  by 
visiting  upon  him  at  the  same  time  the  insults  I  could 
not  repress,  I  may  have  aroused  his  resistance,  and 
excited  his  desire  above  all  else  to  thwart  me. 

"What  do  you  want  of  me?"  he  demanded,  with  a 
sudden  arrogance  which  almost  cast  mine  into  the 
shade. 

"I  want  you,"  said  I,  deeming  the  time  ripe  to 
make  a  plain  tale  of  it,  "to  withdraw  your  men,  and 
to  ride  back  to  Toulouse  without  Monsieur  de  Lave- 
dan,  there  to  confess  to  the  Keeper  of  the  Seals  that 
your  suspicions  were  unfounded,  and  that  you  have 
culled  evidence  that  the  Vicomte  has  had  no  relations 
with  Monsieur  the  King's  brother." 

He  looked  at  me  in  amazement  —  amusedly,  al- 
most. 


I 


SAINT-EUSTACHE  IS  OBSTINATE         229 


**  A  likely  story  that  to  bear  to  the  astute  gentlemen 
in  Toulouse,"  said  he. 

"Aye,  ma  foi,  a  most  likely  story,"  said  I.  "When 
they  come  to  consider  the  profit  that  you  are  losing  by 
not  apprehending  the  Vicomte,  and  can  think  of  none 
that  you  are  making,  they  will  have  little  difficulty  in 
believing  you." 

"But  what  of  this  evidence  you  refer  to?" 

"You  have,  I  take  it,  discovered  no  incriminating 
evidence  —  no  documents  that  will  tell  against  the 
Vicomte?" 

"No,  monsieur,  it  is  true  that  I  have  not — " 

He  stopped  and  bit  his  lip,  my  smile  making  him 
aware  of  his  indiscretion. 

"Very  well,  then,  you  must  invent  some  evidence  to 
prove  that  he  was  in  no  way  associated  with  the  re- 
bellion." 

"Monsieur  de  Bardelys,"  said  he  very  insolently, 
"we  waste  time  in  idle  words.  If  you  think  that  I  will 
imperil  my  neck  for  the  sake  of  serving  you  or  the 
Vicomte,  you  are  most  prodigiously  at  fault." 

"  I  have  never  thought  so.  But  I  have  thought  that 
you  might  be  induced  to  imperil  your  neck  —  as  you 
have  it  —  for  its  own  sake,  and  to  the  end  that  you 
might  save  it." 

He  moved  away.  "Monsieur,  you  talk  in  vain. 
You  have  no  royal  warrant  to  supersede  mine.  Do 
what  you  will  when  you  come  to  Toulouse,"  and  he 
smiled  darkly.  "*  Meanwhile,  the  Vicomte  goes  with 
me." 

"You  have  no  evidence  against  him!"  I  cried, 
scarce  believing  that  he  would  dare  to  defy  me  and 
that  I  had  failed. 


ajo  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

"  I  have  the  evidence  of  my  word.  I  am  ready  to 
swear  to  what  I  know  —  that  whilst  I  was  here  at 
Lavedan,  some  weeks  ago,  I  discovered  his  connection 
with  the  rebels." 

"And  what  think  you,  miserable  fool,  shall  your 
word  weigh  against  mine?"  I  cried.  "Never  fear. 
Monsieur  le  Chevalier,  I  shall  be  in  Toulouse  to  give 
you  the  lie  by  showing  that  your  word  is  a  word  to 
which  no  man  may  attach  faith,  and  by  exposing  to 
the  King  your  past  conduct.  If  you  think  that,  after  I 
have  spoken.  King  Louis  whom  they  name  the  Just 
will  suffer  the -trial  of  the  Vicomte  to  go  further  on 
your  instigation,  or  if  you  think  that  you  will  be  able 
to  slip  your  own  neck  from  the  noose  I  shall  have  set 
about  it,  you  are  an  infinitely  greater  fool  than  I  deem 
you." 

He  stood  and  looked  at  me  over  his  shoulder,  his  face 
crimson,  and  his  brows  black  as  a  thundercloud. 

"All  this  may  betide  when  you  come  to  Toulouse, 
Monsieur  de  Bardelys,"  said  he  darkly,  "but  from 
here  to  Toulouse  it  is  a  matter  of  some  twenty 
leagues." 

With  that,  he  turned  on  his  heel  and  left  me,  baffled 
and  angry,  to  puzzle  out  the  inner  meaning  of  his 
parting  words. 

He  gave  his  men  the  order  to  mount,  and  bade 
Monsieur  de  Lavedan  enter  the  coach,  whereupon 
Gilles  shot  me  a  glance  of  inquiry.  For  a  second,  as  I 
stepped  slowly  after  the  Chevalier,  I  was  minded  to 
try  armed  resistance,  and  to  convert  that  grey  court- 
yard into  a  shambles.  Then  I  saw  betimes  the  futiUty 
of  such  a  step,  and  I  shrugged  my  shoulders  in  answer 
to  my  servant's  glance. 


SAINT-EUSTACHE  IS  OBSTINATE         231 

I  would  have  spoken  to  the  Vicomte  ere  he  departed, 
but  I  was  too  deeply  chagrined  and  humiliated  by 
my  defeat.  So  much  so  that  I  had  no  room  in  my 
thoughts  even  for  the  very  natural  conjecture  of  what 
Lavedan  must  be  thinking  of  me.  I  repented  me  then 
of  my  rashness  in  coming  to  Lavedan  without  having 
seen  the  King  —  as  Castelroux  had  counselled  me. 
I  had  come  indulging  vain  dreams  of  a  splendid  over- 
throw of  Saint-Eustache.  I  had  thought  to  shine  he- 
roically in  Mademoiselle's  eyes,  and  thus  I  had  hoped 
that  both  gratitude  for  having  saved  her  father  and 
admiration  at  the  manner  in  which  I  had  achieved  it 
would  predispose  her  to  grant  me  a  hearing  in  which 
I  might  plead  my  rehabilitation.  Once  that  were 
accorded  me,  I  did  not  doubt  I  should  prevail. 

Now  my  dream  was  all  dispelled,  and  my  pride  had 
suffered  just  such  a  humiliating  fall  as  the  moralists 
tell  us  pride  must  ever  suffer.  There  seemed  little  left 
me  but  to  go  hence  with  lambent  tail,  like  a  dog  that 
has  been  whipped  —  my  dazzling  escort  become  a 
mockery  but  that  it  served  the  more  loudly  to  adver- 
tise my  true  impotency. 

As  I  approached  the  carriage,  the  Vicomtesse  swept 
suddenly  down  the  steps  and  came  towards  me  with  a 
friendly  smile.  "Monsieur  de  Bardelys,"  said  she, 
"we  are  grateful  for  your  intervention  in  the  cause 
of  that  rebel  my  husband." 

"Madame,"  I  besought  her,  under  my  breath,  "if 
you  would  not  totally  destroy  him,  I  beseech  you  to 
be  cautious.  By  your  leave,  I  will  have  my  men  re- 
freshed, and  thereafter  I  shall  take  the  road  to  Tou- 
louse again.  I  can  only  hope  that  my  intervention 
with  the  King  may  bear  better  fruit." 


232  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

Although  I  spoke  in  a  subdued  key,  Saint-Eustache, 
who  stood  near  us,  overheard  me,  as  his  face  very 
clearly  testified. 

"Remain  here,  sir,"  she  replied,  with  some  effusion, 
"and  follow  us  when  you  are  rested." 

"Follow  you?"  I  inquired.  "Do  you  then  go  with 
Monsieur  de  Lavedan?" 

"No,  Anne,"  said  the  Vicomte  politely  from  the 
carriage.  "It  will  be  tiring  you  unnecessarily.  You 
were  better  advised  to  remain  here  until  my  return." 

I  doubt  not  that  the  poor  Vicomte  was  more  con- 
cerned with  how  she  would  tire  him  than  with  how  the 
journey  might  tire  her.  But  the  Vicomtesse  was  not 
to  be  gainsaid.  The  Chevalier  had  sneered  when  the 
Vicomte  spoke  of  returning.  Madame  had  caught 
that  sneer,  and  she  swung  round  upon  him  now  with 
the  vehement  fury  of  a  virago. 

"He'll  not  return,  you  think,  you  Judas!"  she 
snarled  at  him,  her  lean,  swarthy  face  growing  very 
evil  to  see.  "But  he  shall  —  by  God,  he  shall!  And 
look  to  your  skin  when  he  does,  monsieur  the  catch- 
poll, for,  on  my  honour,  you  shall  have  a  foretaste  of 
hell  for  your  trouble  in  this  matter." 

The  Chevalier  smiled  with  much  restraint.  "A 
woman's  tongue,"  said  he,  "does  no  injury." 

"Will  a  woman's  arm,  think  you?"  demanded  that 
warlike  matron.  "  You  musk-stinking  tipstaff,  I'll  —  " 

"Anne,  my  love,"  implored  the  Vicomte  soothingly, 
"I  beg  that  you  will  control  yourself." 

"Shall  I  submit  to  the  insolence  of  this  misbegotten 
vassal?  Shall  I—" 

"Remember  rather  that  it  does  not  become  the 
dignity  of  your  station  to  address  the  fellow.    We 


SAINT-EUSTACHE  IS  OBSTINATE         233 

avoid  venomous  reptileSj  but  we  do  not  pause  to  re- 
proach them  with  their  venom.  God  made  them  so." 

Saint-Eustache  coloured  to  the  roots  of  his  hair, 
then,  turning  hastily  to  the  driver,  he  bade  him  start. 
He  would  have  closed  the  door  with  that,  but  that 
madame  thrust  herself  forward. 

That  was  the  Chevalier's  chance  to  be  avenged 
"You  cannot  go,"  said  he. 

"Cannot?"  Her  cheeks  reddened.  "Why  not, 
monsieur  I'espion?" 

"I  have  no  reasons  to  afford  you,"  he  answered 
brutally.   "You  cannot  go." 

"Your  pardon.  Chevalier,"  I  interposed.  "You  go 
beyond  your  rights  in  seeking  to  prevent  her.  Mon- 
sieur le  Vicomte  is  not  yet  convicted.  Do  not,  I  be- 
seech you,  transcend  the  already  odious  character  of 
your  work." 

And  without  more  ado  I  shouldered  him  aside,  and 
held  the  door  that  she  might  enter.  She  rewarded 
me  with  a  smile  —  half  vicious,  half  whimsical,  and 
mounted  the  step.  Saint-Eustache  would  have  in- 
terfered. He  came  at  me  as  if  resenting  that  shoulder- 
thrust  of  mine,  and  for  a  second  I  almost  thought  he 
would  have  committed  the  madness  of  striking  me. 

"Take  care,  Saint-Eustache,"  I  said  very  quietly, 
my  eyes  fixed  on  his.    And  much  as  dead  Caesar's 
ghost  may  have  threatened  Brutus  with  Philippi  — 
"We  meet  at  Toulouse,  Chevalier,"  said  I,  and  closing 
the  carriage  door  I  stepped  back. 

There  was  a  flutter  of  skirts  behind  me.  It  was 
mademoiselle.  So  brave  and  outwardly  so  calm  until 
now,  the  moment  of  actual  separation  —  and  added 
thereunto  perhaps  her  mother's  going  and  the  loneli- 


t34  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

ness  that  for  herself  she  foresaw  —  proved  more  than 
she  could  endure.  I  stepped  aside,  and  she  swept  past 
me  and  caught  at  the  leather  curtain  of  the  coach. 

"Father!"  she  sobbed. 

There  are  some  things  that  a  man  of  breeding  may 
not  witness  —  some  things  to  look  upon  which  is  near 
akin  to  eavesdropping  or  reading  the  letters  of  an- 
other. Such  a  scene  did  I  now  account  the  present 
one,  and,  turning,  I  moved  away.  But  Saint-Eu- 
stache  cut  it  short,  for  scarce  had  I  taken  three  paces 
when  his  voice  rang  out  the  command  to  move.  The 
driver  hesitated,  for  the  girl  was  still]  hanging  at  the 
window.  But  a  second  command,  accompanied  by  a 
vigorous  oath,  overcame  his  hesitation.  He  gathered 
up  his  reins,  cracked  his  whip,  and  the  lumbering 
wheels  began  to  move. 

"Have  a  care,  child!"  I  heard  the  Vicomte  cry — 
"have  a  care!  Adieu,  mon  enfant!" 

She  sprang  back,  sobbing,  and  assuredly  she  would 
have  fallen,  thrown  out  of  balance  by  the  movement  of 
the  coach,  but  that  I  put  forth  my  hands  and  caught 
her. 

I  do  not  think  she  knew  whose  were  the  arms  that 
held  her  for  that  brief  space,  so  desolated  was  she  by 
the  grief  so  long  repressed.  At  last  she  realized  that  it 
was  this  worthless  Bardelys  against  whom  she  rested; 
this  man  who  had  wagered  that  he  would  win  and  wed 
her;  this  impostor  who  had  come  to  her  under  an 
assumed  name;  this  knave  who  had  lied  to  her  as 
no  gentleman  could  have  lied,  swearing  to  love  her, 
whilst,  in  reality,  he  did  no  more  than  seek  to  win  a 
wager.  When  all  this  she  realized,  she  shuddered  a 
second,  then  moved  abruptly  from  my  grasp,  and. 


SAINT-EUSTACHE  IS  OBSTINATE         235 

without  so  much  as  a  glance  at  me,  she  left  me,  and, 
ascending  the  steps  of  the  chateau,  she  passed  from 
my  sight. 

I  gave  the  order  to  dismount  as  the  last  of  Saint- 
Eustache's  followers  vanished  under  the  portcullis. 


CHAPTER  XIX 
THE  FLINT  AND  THE  STEEL 

MADEMOISELLE  will  see  you,  monsieur,"  said 
Anatole  at  last. 

Twice  already  had  he  carried  unavailingly  my  re- 
quest that  Roxalanne  should  accord  me  an  interview 
ere  I  departed.  On  this  the  third  occasion  I  had  bid- 
den him  say  that  I  would  not  stir  from  Lavedan  until 
she  had  done  me  the  honour  of  hearing  me.  Seem- 
ingly that  threat  had  prevailed  where  entreaties  had 
been  scorned. 

I  followed  Anatole  from  the  half-light  of  the  hall  in 
which  I  had  been  pacing  into  the  salon  overlooking 
the  terraces  and  the  river,  where  Roxalanne  awaited 
me.  She  was  standing  at  the  farther  end  of  the  room 
by  one  of  the  long  windows,  which  was  open,  for,  al- 
though we  were  already  in  the  first  week  of  October, 
the  air  of  Languedoc  was  as  warm  and  balmy  as  that 
of  Paris  or  Picardy  is  in  summer. 

I  advanced  to  the  centre  of  the  chamber,  and  there 
I  paused  and  waited  until  it  should  please  her  to 
acknowledge  my  presence  and  turn  to  face  me.  I  was 
no  fledgling.  I  had  seen  much,  I  had  learnt  much  and 
been  in  many  places,  and  my  bearing  was  wont  to 
convey  it.  Never  in  my  life  had  I  been  gauche,  for 
which  I  thank  my  parents,  and  if  years  ago  —  long 
years  ago  —  a  certain  timidity  had  marked  my  first 
introductions  to  the  Louvre  and  the  Luxembourg, 
that  timidity  was  something  from  which  I  had  long 


THE  FLINT  AND  THE  STEEL  237 

since  parted  company.  And  yet  it  seemed  to  me,  as  I 
stood  in  that  pretty,  sunlit  room  awaiting  the  pleasure 
of  that  child,  scarce  out  of  her  teens,  that  some  of  the 
awkwardness  I  had  escaped  in  earlier  years,  some  of 
the  timidity  of  long  ago,  came  to  me  then.  I  shifted 
the  weight  of  my  body  from  one  leg  to  the  other;  I 
fingered  the  table  by  which  I  stood;  I  pulled  at  the  hat 
I  held;  my  colour  came  and  went;  I  looked  at  her 
furtively  from  under  bent  brows,  and  I  thanked  God 
that  her  back  being  towards  me  she  might  not  see 
the  clown  I  must  have  seemed. 

At  length,  unable  longer  to  brook  that  discompos- 
ing silence  — 

"Mademoiselle!"  I  called  softly.  The  sound  of 
my  own  voice  seemed  to  invigorate  me,  to  strip  me 
of  my  awkwardness  and  self-consciousness.  It  broke 
the  spell  that  for  a  moment  had  been  over  me, 
and  brought  me  back  to  myself — to  the  vain,  self- 
confident,  flamboyant  Bardelys  that  perhaps  you 
have  pictured  from  my  writings. 

"  I  hope,  monsieur,"  she  answered,  without  turning, 
"  that  what  you  may  have  to  say  may  justify  in  some 
measure  your  very  importunate  insistence." 

On  my  life,  this  was  not  encouraging.  But  now  that 
I  was  master  of  myself,  I  was  not  again  so  easily  to  be 
disconcerted.  My  eyes  rested  upon  her  as  she  stood 
almost  framed  in  the  opening  of  that  long  window. 
How  straight  and  supple  she  was,  yet  how  dainty  and 
slight  withal!  She  was  far  from  being  a  tall  woman, 
but  her  clean  length  of  limb,  her  very  slightness,  and 
the  high-bred  poise  of  her  shapely  head,  conveyed 
an  illusion  of  height  unless  you  stood  beside  her.  The 
illusion  did  not  sway  me  then.  I  saw  only  a  child;  but 


138  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

a  child  with  a  great  spirit,  with  a  great  soul  that 
seemed  to  accentuate  her  physical  helplessness.  That 
helplessness,  which  I  felt  rather  than  saw,  wove  into 
the  warp  of  my  love.  She  was  in  grief  just  then  —  in 
grief  at  the  arrest  of  her  father,  and  at  the  dark  fate 
that  threatened  him;  in  grief  at  the  un worthiness  of  a 
lover.  Of  the  two  which  might  be  the  more  bitter  it 
was  not  mine  to  judge,  but  I  burned  to  gather  her 
to  me,  to  comfort  and  cherish  her,  to  make  her  one 
with  me,  and  thus,  whilst  giving  her  something  of 
my  man's  height  and  strength,  cull  from  her  some- 
thing of  that  pure,  noble  spirit,  and  thus  sanctify 
my  own. 

I  had  a  moment's  weakness  when  she  spoke.  I  was 
within  an  ace  of  advancing  and  casting  myself  upon 
my  knees  like  any  Lenten  penitent,  to  sue  forgiveness. 
But  I  set  the  inclination  down  betimes.  Such  expedi- 
ents would  not  avail  me  here. 

"What  I  have  to  say,  mademoiselle,"  I  answered 
after  a  pause,  "would  justify  a  saint  descending  into 
hell;  or,  rather,  to  make  my  metaphor  more  apt, 
would  warrant  a  sinner's  intrusion  into  heaven." 

I  spoke  solemnly,  yet  not  too  solemnly;  the  least 
slur  of  a  sardonic  humour  was  in  my  tones. 

She  moved  her  head  upon  the  white  column  of  her 
neck,  and  with  the  gesture  one  of  her  brown  curls  be- 
came disordered.  I  could  fancy  the  upward  tilt  of  her 
delicate  nose,  the  scornful  curve  of  her  lip  as  she 
answered  shortly  — 

"Then  say  it  quickly,  monsieur." 

And,  being  thus  bidden,  I  said  quickly  — 

"I  love  you,  Roxalanne." 

Her  heel  beat  the  shimmering  parquet  of  the  floor; 


THE  FLINT  AND  THE  STEEL  239 

she  half  turned  towards  me,  her  cheek  flushed,  her  lip 
tremulous  with  anger. 

"Will  you  say  what  you  have  to  say,  monsieur?" 
she  demanded  in  a  concentrated  voice,  "and  having 
said  it,  will  you  go?" 

"Mademoiselle,  I  have  already  said  it,"  I  answered, 
with  a  wistful  smile. 

"Oh!"  she  gasped.  Then  suddenly  facing  round 
upon  me,  a  world  of  anger  in  her  blue  eyes  —  eyes 
that  I  had  known  dreamy,  but  which  were  now  very 
wide  awake.  "Was  it  to  offer  me  this  last  insult  you 
forced  your  presence  upon  me?  Was  it  to  mock  me 
with  those  words,  me  —  a  woman,  with  no  man  about 
me  to  punish  you  ?  Shame,  sir !  Yet  it  is  no  more  than 
I  might  look  for  in  you." 

"Mademoiselle,  you  do  me  grievous  wrong — "  I 
began. 

"I  do  you  no  wrong,"  she  answered  hotly,  then 
stopped,  unwilling  haply  to  be  drawn  into  contention 
with  me.  "Enfin,  since  you  have  said  what  you 
came  to  say  —  will  you  go?"  And  she  pointed  to  the 
door. 

"Mademoiselle,  mademoiselle — "  I  began  in  a 
voice  of  earnest  intercession. 

"Go!"  she  interrupted  angrily,  and  for  a  second  the 
violence  of  her  voice  and  gesture  almost  reminded 
me  of  the  Vicomtesse.  "I  will  hear  no  more  from 
you." 

"Mademoiselle,  you  shall,"  I  answered  no  whit 
less  firmly. 

"  I  will  not  listen  to  you.  Talk  if  you  will.  You 
shall  have  the  walls  for  audience."  And  she  moved 
towards  the  door,  but  I  barred  her  passage.   I  was 


240  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

courteous  to  the  last  degree;  I  bowed  low  before  her 
as  I  put  myself  in  her  way. 

"It  is  all  that  was  wanting  —  that  you  should  offer 
me  violence!"  she  exclaimed. 

"God  forbid!"  said  I. 

"Then  let  me  pass." 

"Aye,  when  you  have  heard  me." 

"I  do  not  wish  to  hear  you.  Nothing  that  you  may 
say  can  matter  to  me.  Oh,  monsieur,  if  you  have  any 
instincts  of  gentility,  if  you  have  any  pretension  to  be 
accounted  anything  but  a  mauvais  sujet,  I  beg  of  you 
to  respect  my  grief.  You  witnessed,  yourself,  the 
arrest  of  my  father.  This  is  no  season  for  such  a  scene 
as  you  are  creating." 

"Pardon!  It  is  in  such  a  season  as  this  that  you 
need  the  comfort  and  support  that  the  man  you  love 
alone  can  give  you." 

"The  man  I  love?"  she  echoed,  and  from  flushed 
that  they  had  been,  her  cheeks  went  very  pale.  Her 
eyes  fell  for  an  instant,  then  they  were  raised  again, 
and  their  blue  depths  were  offered  me.  "  I  think,  sir," 
she  said,  through  her  teeth,  "that  your  insolence 
transcends  all  belief." 

"Can  you  deny  it.^*"  I  cried.  "Can  you  deny  that 
you  love  me?  If  you  can  —  why,  then,  you  lied  to  me 
three  nights  ago  at  Toulouse ! " 

That  smote  her  hard  —  so  hard  that  she  forgot  her 
assurance  that  she  would  not  listen  to  me  —  her 
promise  to  herself  that  she  would  stoop  to  no  conten- 
tion with  me. 

"If,  in  a  momentary  weakness,  in  my  nescience  of 
you  as  you  truly  are,  I  did  make  some  such  admission, 
J  did  entertain  such  feelings  for  you,  things  have  come 


I 


THE  FLINT  AND  THE  STEEL  241 


to  my  knowledge  since  then,  monsieur,  that  have  re- 
vealed you  to  me  as  another  man;  I  have  learnt  some- 
thing that  has  utterly  withered  such  love  as  I  then 
confessed.  Now,  monsieur,  are  you  satisfied,  and  will 
you  let  me  pass?"  She  said  the  last  words  with  a  re- 
turn of  her  imperiousness,  already  angry  at  having 
been  drawn  so  far. 

"I  am  satisfied,  mademoiselle,"!  answered  brutally, 
"that  you  did  not  speak  the  truth  three  nights  ago. 
You  never  loved  me.  It  was  pity  that  deluded  you, 
shame  that  urged  you  —  shame  at  the  Delilah  part 
you  had  played  and  at  your  betrayal  of  me.  Now, 
mademoiselle,  you  may  pass,"  said  I. 

And  I  stood  aside,  assured  that  as  she  was  a  woman 
she  would  not  pass  me  now.  Nor  did  she.  She  recoiled 
a  step  instead.  Her  lip  quivered.  Then  she  recovered 
quickly.  Her  mother  might  have  told  her  that  she 
was  a  fool  for  engaging  herself  in  such  a  duel  with  me 
—  me,  the  veteran  of  a  hundred  amorous  combats. 
Yet  though  I  doubt  not  it  was  her  first  assault-at- 
arms  of  this  description,  she  was  more  than  a  match 
for  me,  as  her  next  words  proved. 

"  Monsieur,  I  thank  you  for  enlightening  me.  I  can- 
not, indeed,  have  spoken  the  truth  three  nights  ago. 
You  are  right,  I  do  not  doubt  it  now,  and  you  lift  from 
me  a  load  of  shame." 

Dieu!  It  was  like  a  thrust  in  the  high  lines,  and  its 
hurtful  violence  staggered  me.  I  was  finished,  it 
seemed.  The  victory  was  hers,  and  she  but  a  child 
with  no  practice  of  Cupid's  art  of  fence! 

"Now,  monsieur,"  she  added,  "now  that  you  are 
satisfied  that  you  did  wrong  to  say  I  loved  you,  now 
that  we  have  disposed  of  that  question  —  adieu!" 


343  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

"A  moment  yet!"  I  cried.  "We  have  disposed  of 
that,  but  there  was  another  point,  an  earlier  one, 
which  for  the  moment  we  have  disregarded.  We  have 
—  you  have  —  disproved,  the  love  I  was  so  presump- 
tuous as  to  believe  you  fostered  for  me.  We  have  yet 
to  reckon  with  the  love  /  bear  you^  mademoiselle,  and 
of  that  we  shall  not  be  able  to  dispose  so  readily." 

With  a  gesture  of  weariness  or  of  impatience,  she 
turned  aside.  "What  is  it  you  want?  What  do  you 
seek  to  gain  by  thus  provoking  me?  To  win  your 
wager?"  Her  voice  was  cold.  Who  to  have  looked 
upon  that  childlike  face,  upon  those  meek,  pondering 
eyes,  could  have  believed  her  capable  of  so  much 
cruelty? 

"There  can  no  longer  be  any  question  of  my  wager; 
I  have  lost  and  paid  it,"  said  I. 

She  looked  up  suddenly.  Her  brows  met  in  a  frown 
of  bewilderment.  Clearly  this  interested  her.  Again 
was  she  drawn. 

"How?"  she  asked.  "You  have  lost  and  paid  it?" 

"Even  so.  That  odious,  cursed,  infamous  wager 
was  the  something  which  I  hinted  at  so  often  as  stand- 
ing between  you  and  me.  The  confession  that  so  often 
I  was  on  the  point  of  making  —  that  so  often  you 
urged  me  to  make  —  concerned  that  wager.  Would  to 
God,  Roxalanne,  that  I  had  told  you!"  I  cried,  and  it 
seemed  to  me  that  the  sincerity  ringing  in  my  voice 
drove  some  of  the  harshness  from  her  countenance, 
some  of  the  coldness  from  her  glance. 

"Unfortunately,"  I  pursued,  "it  always  seemed  to 
me  either  not  yet  time,  or  already  too  late.  Yet  so 
soon  as  I  regained  my  liberty,  my  first  thought  was  of 
that.  While  the  wager  existed  I  might  not  ask  you  to 


THE  FLINT  AND  THE  STEEL  243 

become  my  wife,  lest  I  should  seem  to  be  carrying  out 
the  original  intention  which  embarked  me  upon  the 
business  of  wooing  you,  and  brought  me  here  to 
Languedoc.  And  so  my  first  step  was  to  seek  out 
Chatellerault  and  deliver  him  my  note  of  hand  for  my 
Picardy  possessions,  the  bulk  —  by  far  the  greater 
bulk  —  of  all  my  fortune.  My  second  step  was  to  re- 
pair to  you  at  the  Hotel  de  I'Epee. 

"At  last  I  could  approach  you  with  clean  hands;  I 
could  confess  what  I  had  done;  and  since  it  seemed  to 
me  that  I  had  made  the  utmost  atonement,  I  was 
confident  of  success.  Alas!  I  came  too  late.  In  the 
porch  of  the  auberge  I  met  you  as  you  came  forth. 
From  my  talkative  intendant  you  had  learnt  already 
the  story  of  that  bargain  into  which  Bardelys  had  en- 
tered. You  had  learnt  who  I  was,  and  you  thought 
that  you  had  learnt  why  I  wooed  you.  Accordingly 
you  could  but  despise  me." 

She  had  sunk  into  a  chair.  Her  hands  were  folded 
in  a  listless  manner  in  her  lap,  and  her  eyes  were 
lowered,  her  cheeks  pale.  But  the  swift  heave  of  her 
bosom  told  me  that  my  words  were  not  without  effect. 

"Do  you  know  nothing  of  the  bargain  that  I  made 
with  Chatellerault?"  she  asked  in  a  voice  that  held,  I 
thought,  some  trace  of  misery. 

"Chatellerault  was  a  cheat!"  I  cried.  "No  man  of 
honour  in  France  would  have  accounted  himself  under 
obligation  to  pay  that  wager.  I  paid  it,  not  because  I 
thought  the  payment  due,  but  that  by  its  payment  I 
might  offer  you  a  culminating  proof  of  my  sincerity." 

"Be  that  as  it  may,"  said  she,  "I  passed  him  my 
word  to  —  to  marry  him,  if  he  set  you  at  liberty." 

"The  promise  does  not  hold,  for  when  you  made  it  I 


044  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

was  at  liberty  already.  Besides,  Chatellerault  is  dead 
by  now  —  or  very  near  it." 

"Dead?"  she  echoed,  looking  up. 

"Yes,  dead.  We  fought  — "  The  ghost  of  a  smile, 
of  sudden,  of  scornful  understanding,  passed  like  a  ray 
of  light  across  her  face.  "Pardieu!"  I  cried,  "you  do 
me  a  wrong  there.  It  was  not  by  my  hands  that  he 
fell.   It  was  not  by  me  that  the  duel  was  instigated." 

And  with  that  I  gave  her  the  whole  details  of  the 
affair,  including  the  information  that  Chatellerault 
had  been  no  party  to  my  release,  and  that  for  his 
attempted  judicial  murder  of  me  the  King  would  have 
dealt  very  hardly  with  him  had  he  not  saved  the  King 
the  trouble  by  throwing  himself  upon  his  sword. 

There  was  a  silence  when  I  had  done.  Roxalanne 
sat  on,  and  seemed  to  ponder.  To  let  all  that  I  had 
said  sink  in  and  advocate  my  cause,  as  to  me  was  very 
clear  it  must,  I  turned  aside  and  moved  to  one  of  the 
windows. 

"Why  did  you  not  tell  me  before?"  she  asked 
suddenly.  "Why  —  oh,  why  —  did  you  not  confess 
to  me  the  whole  infamous  affair  as  soon  as  you  came 
to  love  me,  as  you  say  you  did?" 

"As  I  say  I  did?"  I  repeated  after  her.  "Do  you 
doubt  it?  Can  you  doubt  it  in  the  face  of  what  I  have 
done?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know  what  to  believe!"  she  cried,  a 
sob  in  her  voice.  "You  have  deceived  me  so  far,  so 
often.  Why  did  you  not  tell  me  that  night  on  the 
river?  Or  later,  when  I  pressed  you  in  this  very  house? 
Or  again,  the  other  night  in  the  prison  of  Toulouse?" 

"You  ask  me  why.  Can  you  not  answer  the  ques- 
tion for  yourself  ?  Can  you  not  conceive  the  fear  that 


THE  FLINT  AND  THE  STEEL  245 

was  in  me  that  you  should  shrink  away  from  me  in 
loathing  ?  The  fear  that  if  you  cared  a  little,  I  might 
for  all  time  stifle  such  aflfection  as  you  bore  me?  The 
fear  that  I  must  ruin  your  trust  in  me?  Oh,  mademoi- 
selle, can  you  not  see  how  my  only  hope  lay  in  first 
owning  defeat  to  Chatellerault,  in  first  paying  the 
wager  ? " 

"How  could  you  have  lent  yourself  to  such  a  bar- 
gain?" was  her  next  question. 

"How,  indeed?"  I  asked  in  my  turn.  "From  your 
mother  you  have  heard  something  of  the  reputation 
that  attaches  to  Bardelys.  I  was  a  man  of  careless 
ways,  satiated  with  all  the  splendours  life  could  give 
me,  nauseated  by  all  its  luxuries.  Was  it  wonderful 
that  I  allowed  myself  to  be  lured  into  this  affair?  It 
^omised  some  excitement,  a  certain  novelty,  difficul- 
ties in  a  path  that  I  had  —  alas!  —  ever  found  all  too 
smooth  —  for  Chatellerault  had  made  your  reputed 
coldness  the  chief  bolster  of  his  opinion  that  I  should 
not  win. 

"Again,  I  was  not  given  to  over-nice  scruples.  I 
make  no  secret  of  my  infirmities,  but  do  not  blame  me 
too  much.  If  you  could  see  the  fine  demoiselles  we 
have  in  Paris,  if  you  could  listen  to  their  tenets  and 
take  a  deep  look  into  their  lives,  you  would  not  marvel 
at  me.  I  had  never  known  any  but  these.  On  the 
night  of  my  coming  to  Lavedan,  your  sweetness,  your 
pure  innocence,  your  almost  childish  virtue,  dazed 
me  by  their  novelty.  From  that  first  moment  I  be- 
came your  slave.  Then  I  was  in  your  garden  day  by 
day.  And  here,  in  this  old  Languedoc  garden  with 
you  and  your  roses,  during  the  languorous  days  of  my 
convalescence,  is  it  wonderful  that  some  of  the  purity. 


046  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

some  of  the  sweetness  that  was  of  you  and  of  your 
roses,  should  have  crept  into  my  heart  and  cleansed 
it  a  little?  Ah,  mademoiselle!"  I  cried  —  and,  coming 
close  to  her,  I  would  have  bent  my  knee  in  inter- 
cession but  that  she  restrained  me. 

"Monsieur,"  she  interrupted,  "we  harass  ourselves 
in  vain.  This  can  have  but  one  ending." 

Her  tones  were  cold,  but  the  coldness  I  knew  was 
forced  —  else  had  she  not  said  "we  harass  ourselves." 
Instead  of  quelling  my  ardour,  it  gave  it  fuel. 

"True,  mademoiselle,"  I  cried,  almost  exultantly. 
"It  can  end  but  one  way!" 

She  caught  my  meaning,  and  her  frown  deepened. 
I  went  too  fast,  it  seemed. 

"It  had  better  end  now,  monsieur.  There  is  too 
much  between  us.  You  wagered  to  win  me  to  wife." 
She  shuddered.   "I  could  never  forget  it." 

"Mademoiselle,"  I  denied  stoutly,  "I  did  not." 

"How?"  She  caught  her  breath.   "You  did  not?" 

"No,"  I  pursued  boldly.  "I  did  not  wager  to  win 
you.  I  wagered  to  win  a  certain  Mademoiselle  de 
Lavedan,  who  was  unknown  to  me  —  but  not  you, 
not  you." 

She  smiled,  with  never  so  slight  a  touch  of  scorn. 

"  Your  distinctions  are  very  fine  —  too  fine  for  me, 
monsieur." 

"I  implore  you  to  be  reasonable.  Think  reason- 
ably." 

"Am  I  not  reasonable?  Do  I  not  think?  But  there 
is  so  much  to  think  of!"  she  sighed.  "You  carried 
your  deception  so  far.  You  came  here,  for  instance,  as 
Monsieur  de  Lesperon.   Why  that  duplicity?" 

"Again,  mademoiselle,  I  did  not,"  said  I. 


THE  FUNT  AND  THE  STEEL  247 

She  glanced  at  me  with  pathetic  disdain. 

"Indeed,  indeed,  monsieur,  you  deny  things  very 
bravely." 

"Did  I  tell  you  that  my  name  was  Lesperon?" 
Did  I  present  myself  to  monsieur  your  father  as 
Lesperon  ? " 

"Surely  —  yes." 

"Surely  no;  a  thousand  times  no.  I  was  the  victim 
of  circumstances  in  that,  and  if  I  turned  them  to  my 
own  account  after  they  had  been  forced  upon  me, 
shall  I  be  blamed  and  accounted  a  cheat.'*  Whilst  I 
was  unconscious,  your  father,  seeking  for  a  clue  to  my 
identity,  made  an  inspection  of  my  clothes. 

"In  the  pocket  of  my  doublet  they  found  some 
papers  addressed  to  Rene  de  Lesperon  —  some  love 
letters,  a  communication  from  the  Due  d'Orleans, 
and  a  woman's  portrait.  From  all  of  this  it  was  as- 
sumed that  I  was  that  Lesperon.  Upon  my  return 
to  consciousness  your  father  greeted  me  effusively, 
whereat  I  wondered;  he  passed  on  to  discuss  —  nay, 
to  tell  me  of —  the  state  of  the  province  and  of  his 
own  connection  with  the  rebels,  until  I  lay  gasping  at 
his  egregious  temerity.  Then,  when  he  greeted  me  as 
Monsieur  de  Lesperon,  I  had  the  explanation  of  it,  but 
too  late.  Could  I  deny  the  identity  then  ?  Could  I  tell 
him  that  I  was  Bardelys,  the  favourite  of  the  King 
himself?  What  would  have  occurred?  I  ask  you, 
mademoiselle.  Would  I  not  have  been  accounted  a 
spy,  and  would  they  not  have  made  short  work  of 
me  here  at  your  chateau?" 

"No,  no;  they  would  have  done  no  murder.'* 

"Perhaps  not,  but  I  could  not  be  sure  just  then. 
Most  men  situated  as  your  fathar  was  would  have 


248  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

despatched  me.  Ah,  mademoiselle,  have  you  not 
proofs  enough?   Do  you  not  believe  me  now?" 

"Yes,  monsieur,"  she  answered  simply,  "I  believe 
you." 

"Will  you  not  believe,  then,  in  the  sincerity  of  my 
love?" 

She  made  no  reply.  Her  face  was  averted,  but  from 
her  silence  I  took  heart.  I  drew  close  to  her.  1  set  my 
hand  upon  the  tall  back  of  her  chair,  and,  leaning 
towards  her,  I  spoke  with  passionate  heat  as  must 
have  melted,  I  thought,  any  woman  who  had  not  a 
loathing  for  me. 

"Mademoiselle,  I  am  a  poor  man  now,"  I  ended. 
"  I  am  no  longer  that  magnificent  gentleman  whose 
wealth  and  splendour  were  a  byword.  Yet  am  I  no 
needy  adventurer.  I  have  a  little  property  at  Beau- 
gency  —  a  very  spot  for  happiness,  mademoiselle. 
Paris  shall  know  me  no  more.  At  Beaugency  I  shall 
live  at  peace,  in  seclusion,  and,  so  that  you  come 
with  me,  in  such  joy  as  in  all  my  life  I  have  done 
nothing  to  deserve.  I  have  no  longer  an  army  of  re- 
tainers. A  couple  of  men  and  a  maid  or  two  shall 
constitute  our  household.  Yet  I  shall  account  my 
wealth  well  lost  if  for  love's  sake  you'll  share  with  me 
the  peace  of  my  obscurity.  I  am  poor,  mademoiselle, 
yet  no  poorer  even  now  than  that  Gasco"i  gentleman, 
Rene  de  Lesperon,  for  whom  you  held  me,  and  on 
whom  you  bestowed  the  priceless  treasure  of  your 
heart." 

"Oh,  might  it  have  pleased  God  that  you  had  re- 
mained that  poor  Gascon  gentleman!"  she  cried. 

"In  what  am  I  different,  Roxalanne?" 

"In  that  he  had  laid  no  wager,"  she  answered,  ris- 
ing suddenly. 


THE  FLINT  AND  THE  STEEL  149 

My  hopes  were  withering.  She  was  not  angry.  She 
was  pale,  and  her  gentle  face  was  troubled  —  dear 
God!  how  sorely  troubled!  To  me  it  almost  seemed 
that  I  had  lost. 

She  flashed  me  a  glance  of  her  blue  eyes,  and  I 
thought  that  tears  impended. 

"Roxalanne!"  I  supplicated. 

But  she  recovered  the  control  that  for  a  moment 
she  had  appeared  upon  the  verge  of  losing.  She  put 
forth  her  hand. 

"Adieu,  monsieur!"  said  she. 

I  glanced  from  her  hand  to  her  face.  'Her  attitude 
began  to  anger  me,  for  I  saw  that  she  was  not  only 
resisting  me,  but  resisting  herself.  In  her  heart  the 
insidious  canker  of  doubt  persisted.  She  knew  —  or 
should  have  known  —  that  it  no  longer  should  have 
any  place  there,  yet  obstinately  she  refrained  from 
plucking  it  out.  There  was  that  wager.  But  for  that 
same  obstinacy  she  must  have  realized  the  reason  of 
my  arguments,  the  irrefutable  logic  of  my  payment. 
She  denied  me,  and  in  denying  me  she  denied  herself, 
for  that  she  had  loved  me  she  had  herself  told  me,  and 
that  she  could  love  me  again  I  was  assured,  if  she 
would  but  see  the  thing  in  the  light  of  reason  and  of 
justice. 

"Roxalanne,  I  did  not  come  to  Lavedan  to  say 
*  Good-bye'  to  you.  I  seek  from  you  a  welcome,  not  a 
dismissal." 

"Yet  my  dismissal  is  all  that  I  can  give.  Will  you 
not  take  my  hand?  May  we  not  part  in  friendly 
spirit?" 

"No,  we  may  not;  for  we  do  not  part  at  all." 

It  was  as  the  steel  of  my  determination  striking 


150  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

upon  the  flint  of  hers.  She  looked  up  to  my  face  for  an 
instant;  she  raised  her  eyebrows  in  deprecation;  she 
sighed,  shrugged  one  shoulder,  and,  turning  on  her 
heel,  moved  towards  the  door. 

"Anatole  shall  bring  you  refreshment  ere  you  go," 
she  said  in  a  very  polite  and  formal  voice. 

Then  I  played  my  last  card.  Was  it  for  nothing  that 
I  had  flung  away  my  wealth?  If  she  would  not  give 
herself,  by  God,  I  would  compel  her  to  sell  herself. 
And  I  took  no  shame  in  doing  it,  for  by  doing  it  I  was 
saving  her  and  saving  myself  from  a  life  of  unhappi- 
ness. 

"Roxalanne!"  I  cried.  The  imperiousness  of  my 
voice  arrested  and  compelled  her  —  perhaps  against 
her  very  will. 

"Monsieur?"  said  she,  as  demurely  as  you 
please. 

"Do  you  know  what  you  are  doing?" 

"But  yes  —  perfectly." 

"Pardieu,  you  do  not.  I  will  tell  you.  You  are  send- 
ing your  father  to  the  scaflfold." 

She  turned  livid,  her  step  faltered,  and  she  leant 
against  the  frame  of  the  doorway  for  support.  Then 
she  stared  at  me,  wide-eyed  in  horror. 

"That  is  not  true,"  she  pleaded,  yet  without 
conviction.  "He  is  not  in  danger  of  his  life.  They 
can  prove  nothing  against  him.  Monsieur  de  Saint- 
Eustache  could  find  no  evidence  here  —  nothing." 

"Yet  there  is  Monsieur  de  Saint-Eustache's  word; 
there  is  the  fact  —  the  significant  fact  —  that  your 
father  did  not  take  up  arms  for  the  King,  to  afford  the 
Chevalier's  accusation  some  measure  of  corroboration. 
At  Toulouse  in  these  times  they  are  not  particular. 


THE  FLINT  AND  THE  STEEL  251 

Remember  how  it  had  fared  with  me  but  for  the 
King's  timely  arrival." 

That  smote  home.  The  last  shred  of  her  strength 
fell  from  her.  A  great  sob  shook  her,  then  covering 
her  face  with  her  hands  — 

"Mother  in  heaven,  have  pity  on  me!"  she  cried. 
"Oh,  it  cannot  be,  it  cannot  be!" 

Her  distress  touched  me  sorely.  I  would  have 
consoled  her,  I  would  have  bidden  her  have  no  fear, 
assuring  her  that  I  would  save  her  father.  But  for  my 
own  ends,  I  curbed  the  mood.  I  would  use  this  as  a 
cudgel  to  shatter  her  obstinacy,  and  I  prayed  that 
God  might  forgive  me  if  I  did  aught  that  a  gentleman 
should  account  unworthy.  My  need  was  urgent,  my 
love  all-engrossing;  winning  her  meant  winning  life 
and  happiness,  and  already  I  had  sacrificed  so  much. 
Her  cry  rang  still  in  my  ears,  "It  cannot  be,  it  cannot 
be!" 

I  trampled  my  nascent  tenderness  underfoot,  and 
in  its  room  I  set  a  harshness  that  I  did  not  feel  —  a 
harshness  of  defiance  and  menace. 

"It  can  be,  it  will  be,  and,  as  God  lives,  it  shall  be, 
if  you  persist  in  your  unreasonable  attitude." 

"Monsieur,  have  mercy!" 

"Yes,  when  you  shall  be  pleased  to  show  me  the 
way  to  it  by  having  mercy  upon  me.  If  I  have  smned, 
I  have  atoned.  But  that  is  a  closed  question  now;  to 
reopen  it  were  futile.  Take  heed  of  this,  Roxalanne: 
there  is  one  thing  —  one  only  in  all  France  —  can 
save  your  father." 

"That  is,  monsieur?"  she  inquired  breathlessly. 

"My  word  against  that  of  Saint-Eustache.  My 
indication  to  His  Majesty  that  your  father's  treason 


052  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

is  not  to  be  accepted  on  the  accusation  of  Saint-Eu- 
stache.  My  information  to  the  King  of  what  I  know 
touching  this  gentleman." 

"You  will  go,  monsieur?"  she  implored  me.  "Oh, 
you  will  save  him!  Mon  Dieu,  to  think  of  the  time 
that  we  have  wasted  here,  you  and  I,  whilst  he  is 
being  carried  to  the  scaffold!  Oh,  I  did  not  dream 
it  was  so  perilous  with  him !  I  was  desolated  by  his 
arrest;  I  thought  of  some  months'  imprisonment, 
perhaps.  But  that  he  should  die  — !  Monsieur  de  Bar- 
delys,  you  will  save  him  1  Say  that  you  will  do  this 
for  me!" 

She  was  on  her  knees  to  me  now,  her  arms  clasping 
my  boots,  her  eyes  raised  in  entreaty  —  God,  what 
entreaty!  —  to  my  own. 

"Rise,  mademoiselle,  I  beseech  you,"  I  said,  with 
a  quiet  I  was  far  from  feeling.  "There  is  no  need  for 
this.  Let  us  be  calm.  The  danger  to  your  father  is  not 
so  imminent.  We  may  have  some  days  yet  —  three 
or  four,  perhaps." 

I  lifted  her  gently  and  led  her  to  a  chair.  I  was  hard 
put  to  it  not  to  hold  her  supported  in  my  arms.  But  I 
might  not  cull  that  advantage  from  her  distress.  A 
singular  niceness,  you  will  say,  perhaps,  as  in  your 
scorn  you  laugh  at  me.  Perhaps  you  are  right  to  laugh 
—  yet  are  you  not  altogether  right. 

"You  will  go  to  Toulouse,  monsieur?"  she  begged. 

I  took  a  turn  in  the  room,  then  halting  before  her  — 

"Yes,"  I  answered,  "I  will  go." 

The  gratitude  that  leapt  to  her  eyes  smote  me  hard, 
for  my  sentence  was  unfinished. 

"I  will  go,"  I  continued  quickly,  "when  you  shall 
have  promised  to  become  my  wife." 


THE  FLINT  AND  THE  STEEL  253 

The  joy  passed  from  her  face.  She  glanced  at  me  a 
moment  as  if  without  understanding. 

"I  came  to  Lavedan  to  win  you,  Roxalanne,  and 
from  Lavedan  I  shall  not  stir  until  I  have  accom- 
plished my  design,"  I  said  very  quietly.  "You  will 
therefore  see  that  it  rests  with  you  how  soon  I  may 
set  out." 

She  fell  to  weeping  softly,  but  answered  nothing. 
At  last  I  turned  from  her  and  moved  towards  the 
door. 

"Where  are  you  going?"  she  cried. 

"To  take  the  air,  mademoiselle.  If  upon  delibera- 
tion you  can  bring  yourself  to  marry  me,  send  me 
word  by  Anatole  or  one  of  the  others,  and  I  shall  set 
out  at  once  for  Toulouse." 

"Stop!"  she  cried.  Obediently  I  stopped,  my  hand 
already  upon  the  doorknob.  "You  are  cruel,  mon- 
sieur!" she  complained. 

"I  love  you,"  said  I,  by  way  of  explaining  it.  "To 
be  cruel  seems  to  be  the  way  of  love.  You  have  been 
cruel  to  me." 

"Would  you  —  would  you  take  what  is  not  freely 
given?" 

"I  have  the  hope  that  when  you  see  that  you  must 
give,  you  will  give  freely." 

"If —  if  I  make  you  this  promise  — " 

"Yes?"  I  was  growing  white  with  eagerness. 

"You  will  fulfil  your  part  of  the  bargain?" 

"It  is  a  habit  of  mine,  mademoiselle  —  as  witnesses 
the  case  of  Chatellerault."  She  shivered  at  the  men- 
tion of  his  name.  It  reminded  her  of  precisely  such 
another  bargain  that  three  nights  ago  she  had  made. 
Precisely,  did  I  say?  Well,  not  quite  precisely. 


254  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

"I  —  I  promise  to  marry  you,  then,"  said  she  in  a 
choking  voice,  "whenever  you  choose,  after  my  father 
shall  have  been  set  at  liberty." 

I  bowed.   "I  shall  start  at  once,"  said  I. 

And  perhaps  out  of  shame,  perhaps  out  of  —  who 
shall  say  what  sentiments?  —  I  turned  without  an- 
other word  and  left  her. 


CHAPTER  XX 
THE  "BRAVI"  AT  BLAGNAC 

I  WAS  glad  to  be  in  the  open  once  more  —  glad 
of  the  movement,  as  I  rode  at  the  head  of  my 
brave  company  along  the  bank  of  the  Garonne  and 
in  the  shade  of  the  golden,  autumn-tinted  trees. 

I  was  in  a  measure  angry  with  myself  that  I  had 
driven  such  a  bargain  with  Roxalanne,  in  a  measure 
angry  with  her  that  she  had  forced  me  to  it  by  her 
obstinacy.  A  fine  gentleman  I,  on  my  soul,  to  have 
dubbed  Chatellerault  a  cheat  for  having  done  no 
worse  than  I  had  now  brought  myself  to  do!  Yet,  was 
it  so?  No,  I  assured  myself,  it  was  not.  A  thousand 
times  no!  What  I  had  done  I  had  done  as  much  to 
win  Roxalanne  to  me  as  to  win  her  from  her  own 
unreasonableness.  In  the  days  to  come  she  should 
thank  me  for  my  harshness,  for  that  which  now  she 
perhaps  accounted  my  unfairness. 

Then,  again,  would  I  ask  myself,  was  I  very  sure  of 
this.''  And  so  the  two  questions  were  flung  the  one 
against  the  other;  my  conscience  divided  itself  into 
two  parties,  and  they  waged  a  war  that  filled  me  with 
a  depressing  uncertainty. 

In  the  end  shame  was  overthrown,  and  I  flung  back 
my  head  with  a  snort  of  assurance.  I  was  doing  no 
wrong.  On  the  contrary,  I  was  doing  right  —  both  by 
myself  and  by  Roxalanne.  What  matter  that  I  was 
really  cheating  her?  What  matter  that  I  had  said  I 


256  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

would  not  leave  Lavedan  until  I  had  her  promise, 
whilst  in  reality  I  had  hurled  my  threat  at  Saint- 
Eustache  that  I  would  meet  him  at  Toulouse,  and 
passed  my  word  to  the  Vicomtesse  that  I  would 
succour  her  husband? 

I  gave  no  thought  to  the  hidden  threat  with  which 
Saint-Eustache  had  retorted  that  from  Lavedan  to 
Toulouse  was  a  distance  of  some  twenty  leagues.  Had 
he  been  a  man  of  sterner  purposes  I  might  have  been 
uneasy  and  on  my  guard.  But  Saint-Eustache  — 
pshaw! 

It  is  ill  to  underestimate  an  enemy,  be  he  never  so 
contemptible,  and  for  my  disdain  of  the  Chevalier  1 
might  have  paid  dearly  had  not  Fortune  —  which  of 
late  had  been  practising  singular  jests  upon  me  — 
after  seemingly  abandoning  me,  returned  to  my  aid  at 
the  last  moment. 

It  was  Saint-Eustache's  purpose  that  I  should 
never  reach  Toulouse  alive,  for  in  all  the  world  I  was 
the  one  man  he  feared,  the  one  man  who  would  en- 
compass his  undoing  and  destruction  by  a  word.  And 
so  he  had  resolved  and  disposed  that  I  should  be  re- 
moved, and  to  accomplish  this  he  had  left  a  line  of 
bravi  along  the  road  I  was  to  pass. 

He  had  counted  upon  my  lying  the  night  in  one  of 
the  intervening  towns,  for  the  journey  was  over-long 
to  be  accomplished  at  a  stretch,  and  wherever  I  might 
chance  to  lie,  there  I  should  have  to  reckon  with  his 
assassins.  The  nearer  Toulouse  —  although  I  knew 
not  this  —  the  thicker  grew  my  danger.  Into  the 
very  thick  of  it  I  rode;  in  the  very  thick  of  it  I  lay, 
and  all  that  came  of  it  was  that  I  obtained  possession 
of  one  more  and  overwhelming  piece  of  evidence 


THE  BRAVI  AT  BLAGNAC  257 

against  my  murderous  Chevalier.  But  I  outrun  my 
story. 

It  had  been  my  purpose  to  change  horses  at  Gre- 
nade, and  so  push  on  and  reach  Toulouse  that  very 
night  or  in  the  early  hours  of  the  following  morning. 
At  Grenade,  however,  there  were  no  horses  to  be  ob- 
tained, at  least  not  more  than  three,  and  so,  leaving 
the  greater  portion  of  my  company  behind,  I  set  out, 
escorted  only  by  Gilles  and  Antoine.  Night  had 
fallen  long  before  we  reached  Lespinasse,  and  with  it 
came  foul  weather.  The  wind  rose  from  the  west, 
grew  to  the  violence  of  a  hurricane,  and  brought  with 
it  such  a  deluge  of  cold,  cutting  rain  as  never  had  it 
been  my  ill-chance  to  ride  through.  From  Lespinasse 
to  Fenouillet  the  road  dips  frequently,  and  wherever 
this  occurred  it  seemed  to  us  that  we  were  riding  in  a 
torrent,  our  horses  fetlock-deep  in  mud. 

Antoine  complained  in  groans;  Gilles  growled 
openly,  and  went  the  length  of  begging  me,  as  we 
rode  through  the  ill-paved,  flooded  streets  of  Fe- 
nouillet, to  go  no  farther.  But  I  was  adamant  in  my 
resolve.  Soaked  to  the  skin,  my  clothes  hanging 
sodden  about  me,  and  chilled  to  the  marrow  though 
I  was,  I  set  my  chattering  teeth,  and  swore  that  we 
should  not  sleep  until  we  reached  Toulouse. 

"My  God,"  he  groaned,  "and  we  but  halfway!" 

"Forward!"  was  all  I  answered;  and  so  as  mid- 
night chimed  we  left  Fenouillet  behind  us,  and  dashed 
on  into  the  open  country  and  the  full  fury  of  the 
tempest. 

My  servants  came  after  me  upon  their  stumbling 
horses,  whining  and  cursing  by  turns,  and  forgetting 
in  their  misery  the  respect  that  they  were  accustomed 


458  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

to  pay  me.  I  think  now  that  it  was  a  providence  that 
guided  me.  Had  I  halted  at  Fenouillet,  as  they  would 
have  had  me  do,  it  is  odds  that  this  chronicle  would 
never  have  been  penned,  for  likely  enough  I  had  had 
my  throat  cut  as  I  slept.  A  providence  was  it  also 
that  brought  my  horse  down  within  a  half-mile  of 
Blagnac,  and  so  badly  did  it  founder  that  it  might  not 
be  ridden  farther. 

The  beasts  my  men  bestrode  were  in  little  better 
condition,  and  so,  with  infinite  chagrin,  I  was  forced 
to  acknowledge  defeat  and  to  determine  that  at 
Blagnac  we  should  lie  for  the  remainder  of  the  night. 
After  all,  it  mattered  little.  A  couple  of  hours'  riding 
in  the  morning  would  bring  us  to  Toulouse,  and  we 
would  start  betimes. 

I  bade  Gilles  dismount  —  he  had  been  the  louder  in 
his  complainings  —  and  follow  us  afoot,  bringing  my 
horse  to  the  Auberge  de  I'fitoile  at  Blagnac,  where  he 
would  await  him.  Then  I  mounted  his  jaded  beast, 
and,  accompanied  by  Antoine  —  the  last  of  my  re- 
tainers —  I  rode  into  Blagnac,  and  pulled  up  at  the 
sign  of  the  "Star." 

With  my  whip  I  smote  the  door,  and  I  had  need  to 
smite  hard  if  I  would  be  heard  above  the  wind  that 
shrieked  and  howled  under  the  eaves  of  that  narrow 
street.  Yet  it  almost  seemed  as  if  some  one  were 
expected,  for  scarce  had  my  knocking  ceased  when 
the  door  was  opened,  and  the  landlord  stood  there, 
shading  a  taper  with  his  hand.  For  a  moment  I  saw 
the  glow  of  its  light  on  his  rosy,  white-bearded  face, 
then  a  gust  of  wind  extinguished  it. 

"  Diable ! "  he  swore,  "  an  ugly  night  for  travelling  **; 
adding  as  an  afterthought,  "You  ride  late,  monsieur." 


THE  BRAVI  AT  BLAGNAC  259 

"You  are  a  man  of  supreme  discernment,  Monsieur 
I'Hote,"  said  I  testily,  as  I  pushed  him  aside  and 
stepped  into  the  passage.  "Will  you  keep  me  in  the 
rain  till  daylight  whilst  you  perpend  how  late  I  ride? 
Is  your  ostler  abed  ?  See  to  those  beasts  yourself,  then. 
Afterwards  get  me  food  —  for  me  and  for  my  man  — 
and  beds  for  both  of  us." 

"I  have  but  one  room,  monsieur,"  he  answered 
respectfully.  "You  shall  have  that,  and  your  servant 
shall  sleep  in  the  hayloft." 

"My  servant  sleeps  in  my  room,  if  you  have  but 
one.  Set  a  mattress  on  the  floor  for  him.  Is  this  a 
night  to  leave  a  dog  to  sleep  in  a  hayloft?  I  have  an- 
other servant  following.  He  will  be  here  in  a  few 
minutes.  You  must  find  room  for  him  also  —  in  the 
passage  outside  my  door,  if  no  other  accommodation 
be  possible." 

"But,  monsieur  — "  he  began  in  a  tone  of  protest, 
which  I  set  down  to  the  way  a  landlord  has  of  making 
difficulties  that  he  shall  be  the  better  paid  for  such 
lodging  as  he  finds  us. 

"See  to  it,"  I  ordered  peremptorily.  "You  shall  be 
well  paid.   Now  go  tend  those  horses." 

On  the  wall  of  the  passage  fell  a  warm,  reddish  glow 
from  the  common  room,  which  argued  a  fire,  and  this 
was  too  alluring  to  admit  of  my  remaining  longer  in 
discussion  with  him.  I  strode  forward,  therefore.  The 
Auberge  de  I'Etoile  was  not  an  imposing  hostelry,  nor 
one  at  which  from  choice  I  had  made  a  halt.  This 
common  room  stank  most  vilely  of  oil,  of  burning 
tallow  —  from  the  smoky  tapers  —  and  of  I  know  not 
what  other  noisome  unsavourinesses. 

As  I  entered,  I  was  greeted  by  a  resonant  snore  from 


26o  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

a  man  seated  in  a  corner  by  the  fire.  His  head  had 
fallen  back,  displaying  the  brown,  sinewy  neck,  and 
he  slept  —  or  seemed  to  sleep  —  with  mouth  wide 
open.  Full  length  on  the  hearth  and  in  the  red  glare  of 
the  burning  logs  lay  what  at  first  glance  I  took  to  be  a 
heap  of  rags,  but  which  closer  scrutiny  showed  me  to 
be  another  man,  seemingly  asleep  also. 

I  flung  my  sodden  castor  on  the  table;  I  dropped 
my  drenched  cloak  on  the  ground,  and  stepped  with 
heavy  tread  and  a'noisy  rattle  of  spurs  across  the  floor. 
Yet  my  ragged  gentleman  slept  on.  I  touched  him 
lightly  with  my  whip. 

"Hola,  mon  bonhomme!"  I  cried  to  him.  Still  he 
did  not  move,  whereat  I  lost  patience  and  caught  him 
a  kick  full  in  the  side,  so  choicely  aimed  that  first  it 
doubled  him  up,  then  brought  him  into  a  sitting 
posture,  with  the  snarl  of  a  cross-grained  dog  that  has 
been  rudely  aroused. 

From  out  of  an  evil,  dirty  countenance  a  pair  of 
gloomy,  bloodshot  eyes  scowled  threateningly  upon 
me.  The  man  on  the  chair  awoke  at  the  same  instant, 
and  sat  forward, 

"Eh  bien?"  said  I  to  my  friend  on  the  hearth. 
"Will  you  stir  yourself?" 

"For  whom?  "  he  growled.  "Is   not  the  Etoile  as 
much  for  me  as  for  you,  whoever  you  may  be? " 

"We  have  paid  our  lodging,  pardieu!"  swore  he  of 
the  chair. 

"My  masters,"  said  I  grimly,  "if  you  have  not  eyes 
to  see  my  sodden  condition,  and  if  you  therefore  have 
not  the  grace  to  move  that  I  may  approach  the  fire, 
I'll  see  to  it  that  you  spend  the  night  not  only  a 
I'Etoile,  but  a  la  belle  etoile."  With  which  pleasantry, 


THE  BRAVI  AT  BLAGNAC  261 

and  a  touch  of  the  foot,  I  moved  my  friend  aside.  My 
tone  was  not  nice,  nor  do  I  generally  have  the  air  of 
promising  more  than  I  can  fulfil. 

They  were  growling  together  in  a  corner  when 
Antoine  came  to  draw  off  my  doublet  and  my  boots. 
They  were  still  growling  when  Gilles  joined  us  pres- 
ently, although  at  his  coming  they  paused  to  take  his 
measure  with  their  eyes.  For  Gilles  was  something  of 
a  giant,  and  men  were  wont  to  turn  their  heads  — 
aye,  and  women  too  —  to  admire  his  fine  proportions. 
We  supped  —  so  vilely  that  I  have  not  the  heart  to 
tell  you  what  we  ate  —  and,  having  supped,  I  bade 
my  host  light  me  to  my  chamber.  As  for  my  men,  I 
had  determined  that  they  should  spend  the  night  in 
the  common  room,  where  there  was  a  fire,  and  where 
—  notwithstanding  the  company  of  those  two  ruffians, 
into  whose  presence  I  had  not  troubled  to  inquire  — • 
they  would  doubtless  be  better  than  elsewhere  in 
that  poor  hostelry. 

In  gathering  up  my  cloak  and  doublet  and  other 
effects  to  bear  them  off  to  the  kitchen,  the  host  would 
have  possessed  himself  also  of  my  sword.  But  with  a 
laugh  I  took  it  from  him,  remarking  that  it  required 
no  drying. 

As  we  mounted  the  stairs,  I  heard  something  above 
me  that  sounded  like  the  creaking  of  a  door.  The  host 
heard  it  also,  for  he  stood  suddenly  still,  his  glance 
very  questioning. 

"What  was  that?"  said  he. 

"The  wind,  I  should  say,"  I  answered  idly;  and  my 
answer  seemed  to  reassure  him,  for  with  a  — 

"Ah,  yes  —  the  wind,"  he  went  on. 

Now,  for  all  that  I  am  far  from  being  a  man  of 


363  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

tremors  or  unwarranted  fears,  to  tell  the  truth  the 
hostelry  of  the  "Star"  was  beginning  to  fret  my 
nerves.  I  could  scarce  have  told  you  why  had  you 
asked  me,  as  I  sat  upon  the  bed  after  mine  host  had 
left  me,  and  turned  my  thoughts  to  it.  It  was  none  of 
the  trivial  incidents  that  had  marked  my  coming;  but 
it  was,  I  think,  the  combination  of  them  all.  First 
there  was  the  host's  desire  to  separate  me  from  my 
men  by  suggesting  that  they  should  sleep  in  the  hay- 
loft. Clearly  unnecessary,  when  he  was  not  averse  to 
turning  his  common  room  into  a  dormitory.  There 
was  his  very  evident  relief  when,  after  announcing 
that  I  would  have  them  sleep  one  in  my  room  and  one 
in  the  passage  by  my  door,  I  consented  to  their  spend- 
ing the  night  below;  there  was  the  presence  of  those 
two  very  ill -looking  cut-throats;  there  was  the  at- 
tempt to  carry  off  my  sword;  and,  lastly,  there  was 
that  creaking  door  and  the  host's  note  of  alarm. 

What  was  that? 

I  stood  up  suddenly.  Had  my  fancy,  dwelling  upon 
that  very  incident,  tricked  me  into  believing  that  a 
door  had  creaked  again?  I  listened,  but  a  silence 
followed,  broken  only  by  a  drone  of  voices  ascending 
from  the  common  room.  As  I  had  assured  the  host 
upon  the  stairs,  so  I  now  assured  myself  that  it  was 
the  wind,  the  signboard  of  the  inn,  perhaps,  swaying 
in  the  storm. 

And  then,  when  I  had  almost  dismissed  my  doubts, 
and  was  about  to  divest  myself  of  my  remaining 
clothes,  I  saw  something  at  which  I  thanked  Heaven 
that  I  had  not  allowed  the  landlord  to  carry  off  my 
rapier.  My  eyes  were  on  the  door,  and,  as  I  gazed,  I 
beheld  the  slow  raising  of  the  latch.   It  was  no  delu- 


THE  BRAVI  AT  BLAGNAC  263 

sion;  my  wits  were  keen  and  my  eyes  sharp;  there 
was  no  fear  to  make  me  see  things  that  were  not. 
Softly  I  stepped  to  the  bed-rail  where  I  had  hung  my 
sword  by  the  baldrick,  and  as  softly  I  unsheathed  it. 
The  door  was  pushed  open,  and  I  caught  the  advance 
of  a  stealthy  step.  A  naked  foot  shot  past  the  edge  of 
the  door  into  my  room,  and  for  a  second  I  thought  of 
pinning  it  to  the  ground  with  my  rapier;  then  came  a 
leg,  then  a  half-dressed  body  surmounted  by  a  face  — • 
the  face  of  Rodenard! 

At  sight  of  it,  amazement  and  a  hundred  suspicions 
crossed  my  mind.  How,  in  God's  name,  came  he  here, 
and  for  what  purpose  did  he  steal  so  into  my  chamber? 

But  my  suspicions  perished  even  as  they  were  be- 
gotten. There  was  so  momentous,  so  alarmingly 
warning  a  look  on  his  face  as  he  whispered  the  one 
word  "Monseigneur!"  that  clearly  if  danger  there 
was  to  me  it  was  not  from  him. 

"What  the  devil  — "I  began. 

But  at  the  sound  of  my  voice  the  alarm  grew  in  his 
eyes. 

*"Sh!"  he  whispered,  his  finger  on  his  lips.  "Be 
silent,  monseigneur,  for  Heaven's  sake!" 

Very  softly  he  closed  the  door;  softly,  yet  painfully, 
he  hobbled  forward  to  my  side. 

"There  is  a  plot  to  murder  you,  monseigneur,"  he 
whispered. 

"What!  HereatBlagnac?" 

He  nodded  fearfully. 

"Bah!"  I  laughed.  "You  rave,  man.  Who  was  to 
know  that  I  was  to  come  this  way?  And  who  is  there 
to  plot  against  my  life?" 

"Monsieur    de    Saint-Eustache."    he    answered. 


264  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

"And  for  the  rest,  as  to  expecting  you  here,  they  did 
not,  but  they  were  prepared  against  the  remote  chance 
of  your  coming.  From  what  I  have  gathered,  there  is 
not  a  hostelry  betwixt  this  and  Lavedan  at  which  the 
Chevalier  has  not  left  his  cut-throats  with  the  promise 
of  enormous  reward  to  the  men  who  shall  kill  you." 

I  caught  my  breath  at  that.   My  doubts  vanished. 

"Tell  me  what  you  know,"  said  I.   "Be  brief." 

Thereupon  this  faithful  dog,  whom  I  had  so  sorely 
beaten  but  four  nights  ago,  told  me  how,'upon  finding 
himself  able  to  walk  once  more,  he  had  gone  to  seek 
me  out,  that  he  might  implore  me  to  forgive  him  and 
not  cast  him  off  altogether,  after  a  lifetime  spent  in 
the  service  of  my  father  and  of  myself. 

He  had  discovered  from  Monsieur  de  Castelroux 
that  I  was  gone  to  Lavedan,  and  he  determined  to 
follow  me  thither.  He  had  no  horse  and  little  money, 
and  so  he  had  set  out  afoot  that  very  day,  and  dragged 
himself  as  far  as  Blagnac,  where,  however,  his  strength 
had  given  out,  and  he  was  forced  to  halt.  A  providence 
it  seemed  that  this  had  so  befallen.  For  here  at  the 
Etoile  he  had  that  evening  overheard  Saint-Eustache 
in  conversation  with  those  two  bravi  below  stairs.  It 
would  seem  from  what  he  had  said  that  at  every 
hostelry  from  Grenade  to  Toulouse  —  at  which  it  was 
conceivable  that  I  might  spend  the  night  —  the 
Chevalier  had  made  a  similar  provision. 

At  Blagnac,  if  I  got  so  far  without  halting,  I  must 
arrive  very  late,  and  therefore  the  Chevalier  had 
bidden  his  men  await  me  until  daylight.  He  did  not 
believe,  however,  that  I  should  travel  so  far,  for  he 
had  seen  to  it  that  I  should  find  no  horses  at  the  post- 
houses.  But  it  was  just  possible  that  I  might,  never- 


THE  BRAVI  AT  BLAGNAC  265 

theless,  push  on,  and  Saint-Eustache  would  let  no 
possibility  be  overlooked.  Here  at  Blagnac  the  land- 
lord, Rodenard  informed  me,  was  also  in  Saint-Eu- 
stache's  pay.  Their  intention  was  to  stab  me  as  I 
slept. 

" Monseigneur,"  he  ended,  "knowing  what  danger 
awaited  you  along  the  road,  I  have  sat  up  all  night, 
praying  God  and  His  saints  that  you  might  come  this 
far,  and  that  thus  I  might  warn  you.  Had  I  been  less 
bruised  and  sore,  I  had  got  myself  a  horse  and  ridden 
out  to  meet  you;  as  it  was,  I  could  but  hope  and  pray 
that  you  would  reach  Blagnac,  and  that — " 

I  gathered  him  into  my  arms  at  that,  but  my  em- 
brace drew  a  groan  from  him,  for  the  poor,  faithful 
knave  was  very  sore. 

"My  poor  Ganymede!"  I  murmured,  and  I  was 
more  truly  moved  to  sympathy,  I  think,  than  ever  I 
had  been  in  all  my  selfish  life.  Hearing  his  sobriquet, 
a  look  of  hope  gleamed  suddenly  in  his  eye. 

"  You  will  take  me  back,  monseigneur  ? "  he  pleaded. 
"You  will  take  me  back,  will  you  not?  I  swear  that  I 
will  never  let  my  tongue  — " 

"  'Sh,  my  good  Ganymede.  Not  only  will  I  take  you 
back,  but  I  shall  strive  to  make  amends  for  my  bru- 
tality. Come,  my  friend,  you  shall  have  twenty  golden 
louis  to  buy  unguents  for  your  poor  shoulders." 

"Monseigneur  is  very  good,"  he  murmured,  where- 
upon I  would  have  embraced  him  again  but  that  he 
shivered  and  drew  back. 

"No,  no,  monseigneur,"  he  whispered  fearfully. 
"It  is  a  great  honour,  but  it  —  it  pains  me  to  be 
touched." 

"Then  take  the  will  for  the  deed.    And  now  for 


266  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

these  gentlemen  below  stairs."  I  rose  and  moved  to 
the  door. 

"Order  Gilles  to  beat  their  brains  out,"  was  Gany- 
mede's merciful  suggestion. 

I  shook  my  head.  "  We  might  be  detained  for  doing 
murder.  We  have  no  proof  yet  of  their  intentions.  I 
think  — "  An  idea  flashed  suddenly  across  my  mind. 
"Go  back  to  your  room,  Ganymede,"  I  bade  him. 
"Lock  yourself  in,  and  do  not  stir  until  I  call  you.  I 
do  not  wish  their  suspicions  aroused." 

I  opened  the  door,  and  as  Ganymede  obediently 
slipped  past  me  and  vanished  down  the  passage  — 

"Monsieur  I'Hote,"  I  called.   "Ho,  there,  Gilles!" 

"  Monsieur,"  answered  the  landlord. 

"  Monseigneur,"  replied  Gilles;  and  there  came  a 
stir  below. 

"Is  aught  amiss?"  the  landlord  questioned,  a  note 
of  concern  in  his  voice. 

"Amiss?"  I  echoed  peevishly,  mincing  my  words  as 
I  uttered  them.  "Pardi!  Must  I  be  put  to  it  to  un- 
dress myself,  whilst  those  two  lazy  dogs  of  mine  are 
snoring  beneath  me?  Come  up  this  instant,  Gilles. 
And,"  I  added  as  an  afterthought,  "you  had  best 
sleep  here  in  my  room." 

"At  once,  monseigneur,"  answered  he,  but  I 
caught  the  faintest  tinge  of  surprise  in  his  accents,  for 
never  yet  had  it  fallen  to  the  lot  of  sturdy,  clumsy 
Gilles  to  assist  me  at  my  toilet. 

The  landlord  muttered  something,  and  I  heard 
Gilles  whispering  his  reply.  Then  the  stairs  creaked 
under  his  heavy  tread. 

In  my  room  I  told  him  in  half  a  dozen  words  what 
was  afoot.  For  answer,  he  swore  a  great  oath  that  the 


THE  BRAVI  AT  BLAGNAC  267 

landlord  had  mulled  a  stoupof  wine  for  him,  which  he 
never  doubted  now  was  drugged.  I  bade  him  go  below 
and  fetch  the  wine,  telling  the  landlord  that  I,  too 
had  a  fancy  for  it. 

"But  whatof  Antoine?"  heasked.  "  They  will  drug 
him." 

"Let  them.  We  can  manage  this  affair,  you  and  I, 
without  his  help.  If  they  did  not  drug  him,  they 
might  haply  stab  him.  So  that  in  being  drugged  lies 
his  safety." 

As  I  bade  him  so  he  did,  and  presently  he  returned 
with  a  great  steaming  measure.  This  I  emptied  into  a 
ewer,  then  returned  it  to  him  that  he  might  take  it 
back  to  the  host  with  my  thanks  and  our  appreciation. 
Thus  should  we  give  them  confidence  that  the  way 
was  clear  and  smooth  for  them. 

Thereafter  there  befell  precisely  that  which  already 
you  will  be  expecting,  and  nothing  that  you  cannot 
guess.  It  was  perhaps  at  the  end  of  an  hour's  silent 
waiting  that  one  of  them  came.  We  had  left  the  door 
unbarred  so  that  his  entrance  was  unhampered.  But 
scarce  was  he  within  when  out  of  the  dark,  on  either 
side  of  him,  rose  Gilles  and  I.  Before  he  had  realized 
it,  he  was  lifted  off  his  feet  and  deposited  upon  the  bed 
without  a  cry;  the  only  sound  being  the  tinkle  of  the 
knife  that  dropped  from  his  suddenly  unnerved  hand. 

On  the  bed,  with  Gilles's  great  knee  in  his  stomach, 
and  Gilles's  hands  at  his  throat,  he  was  assured  in  un- 
equivocal terms  that  at  his  slightest  outcry  we  would 
make  an  end  of  him.  I  kindled  a  light.  We  trussed 
him  hand  and  foot  with  the  bedclothes,  and  then, 
whilst  he  lay  impotent  and  silent  in  his  terror,  I 
proceeded  to  discuss  the  situation  with  him. 


268  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

I  pointed  out  that  we  knew  that  what  he  had  done 
he  had  done  at  Saint-Eustache's  instigation,  therefore 
the  true  guilt  was  Saint-Eustache's  and  upon  him 
alone  the  punishment  should  fall.  But  ere  this  could 
come  to  pass,  he  himself  must  add  his  testimony  to 
ours  —  mine  and  Rodenard's.  If  he  would  come  to 
Toulouse  and  do  that  —  make  a  full  confession  of  how 
he  had  been  set  to  do  this  murdering  —  the  Chevalier 
de  Saint-Eustache,  who  was  the  real  culprit,  should  be 
the  only  one  to  suffer  the  penalty  of  the  law.  If  he 
would  not  do  that,  why,  then,  he  must  stand  the 
consequences  himself —  and  the  consequences  would 
be  the  hangman.  But  in  either  case  he  was  coming  to 
Toulouse  in  the  morning. 

It  goes  without  saying  that  he  was  reasonable.  I 
never  for  a  moment  held  his  judgment  in  doubt;  there 
is  no  loyalty  about  a  cut-throat,  and  it  is  not  the  way 
of  his  calling  to  take  unnecessary  risks. 

We  had  just  settled  the  matter  in  a  mutually  agree- 
able manner  when  the  door  opened  again,  and  his 
confederate  —  rendered  uneasy,  no  doubt,  by  his  long 
absence  —  came  to  see  what  could  be  occasioning 
this  unconscionable  delay  in  the  slitting  of  the  throats 
of  a  pair  of  sleeping  men. 

Beholding  us  there  in  friendly  conclave,  and  no 
doubt  considering  that  under  the  circumstances  his 
intrusion  was  nothing  short  of  an  impertinence,  that 
polite  gentleman  uttered  a  cry  —  which  I  should  like 
to  think  was  an  apology  for  having  disturbed  us  — 
and  turned  to  go  with  most  indecorous  precipitancy. 

But  Gilles  took  him  by  the  nape  of  his  dirty  neck 
and  haled  him  back  into  the  room.  In  less  time  than 
it  takes  me  to  tell  of  it,  he  lay  beside  his  colleague,  and 


THE  BRAVI  AT  BLAGNAC  269 

was  being  asked  whether  he  did  not  think  that  he 
might  also  come  to  take  the  same  view  of  the  situ- 
ation. Overjoyed  that  we  intended  no  worse  by  him, 
he  swore  by  every  saint  in  the  calendar  that  he  would 
do  our  will,  that  he  had  reluctantly  undertaken  the 
Chevalier's  business,  that  he  was  no  cut-throat,  but  a 
poor  man  with  a  wife  and  children  to  provide  for. 

And  that,  in  short,  was  how  it  came  to  pass  that  the 
Chevalier  de  Saint-Eustache  himself,  by  disposing  for 
my  destruction,  disposed  only  for  his  own.  VVith  these 
two  witnesses,  and  Rodenard  to  swear  how  Saint- 
Eustache  had  bribed  them  to  cut  my  throat,  with  my- 
self and  Gilles  to  swear  how  the  attempt  had  been 
made  and  frustrated,  I  could  now  go  to  His  Majesty 
with  a  very  full  confidence,  not  only  of  having  the 
Chevalier's  accusations,  against  whomsoever  they 
might  be,  discredited,  but  also  of  sending  the  Cheva- 
lier himself  to  the  gallows  he  had  so  richly  earned. 


CHAPTER  XXI 
LOUIS  THE  JUST 

FOR  me,"  said  the  King,  "these  depositions  were 
not  necessary.  Your  word,  my  dear  Marcel, 
would  have  sufficed.  For  the  courts,  however,  perhaps 
it  is  well  that  you  have  had  them  taken;  moreover, 
they  form  a  valuable  corroboration  of  the  treason 
which  you  lay  to  the  charge  of  Monsieur  de  Saint- 
Eustache." 

We  were  standing  —  at  least.  La  Fosse  and  I  were 
standing,  Louis  XIII  sat  —  in  a  room  of  the  Palace 
of  Toulouse,  where  I  had  had  the  honour  of  being 
brought  before  His  Majesty.  La  Fosse  was  there,  be- 
cause it  would  seem  that  the  King  had  grown  fond  of 
him,  and  could  not  be  without  him  since  his  coming 
to  Toulouse. 

His  Majesty  was,  as  usual,  so  dull  and  weary  —  not 
even  roused  by  the  approaching  trial  of  Montmorency, 
which  was  the  main  business  that  had  brought  him 
South  —  that  even  the  company  of  this  vapid,  shallow, 
but  irrepressibly  good-humoured  La  Fosse,  with  his 
everlasting  mythology,  proved  a  thing  desirable. 

"I  will  see,"  said  Louis,  "that  your  friend  the 
Chevalier  is  placed  under  arrest  at  once,  and  as  much 
for  his  attempt  upon  your  life  as  for  the  unstable 
quality  of  his  political  opinions,  the  law  shall  deal 
with  him  —  conclusively."  He  sighed.  "It  always 
pains  me  to  proceed  to  extremes  against  a  man  of  his 


LOUIS  THE  JUST  271 

stamp.  To  deprive  a  fool  of  his  head  seems  a  work  of 
supererogation." 

I  inclined  my  head,  and  smiled  at  his  pleasantry. 
Louis  the  Just  rarely  permitted  himself  to  jest,  and 
when  he  did  his  humour  was  as  like  unto  humour  as 
water  is  like  unto  wine.  Still,  when  a  monarch  jests,  if 
you  are  wise,  if  you  have  a  favour  to  sue,  or  a  position 
at  Court  to  seek  or  to  maintain,  you  smile,  for  all  that 
the  ineptitude  of  his  witless  wit  be  rather  provocative 
of  sorrow. 

"Nature  needs  meddling  with  at  times,"  hazarded 
La  Fosse,  from  behind  His  Majesty's  chair.  "This 
Saint-Eustache  is  a  sort  of  Pandora's  box,  which  it  is 
well  to  close  ere  — " 

" Go  to  the  devil,"  said  the  King  shortly.  "We  are 
not  jesting.  We  have  to  do  justice." 

"Ah!  Justice,"  murmured  La  Fosse;  "I  have  seen 
pictures  of  the  lady.  She  covers  her  eyes  with  a  band- 
age, but  is  less  discreet  where  the  other  beauties  of  her 
figure  are  in  question." 

His  Majesty  blushed.  He  was  above  all  things  a 
chaste-minded  man,  modest  as  a  nun.  To  the  im- 
modesty rampant  about  him  he  was  in  the  habit  of 
closing  his  eyes  and  his  ears,  until  the  flagrancy  or  the 
noise  of  it  grew  to  proportions  to  which  he  might  re- 
main neither  blind  nor  deaf. 

"  Monsieur  de  la  Fosse,"  said  he  in  an  austere  voice, 
"you  weary  me,  and  when  people  weary  me  I  send 
them  away  —  which  is  one  of  the  reasons  why  I  am 
usually  so  much  alone.  I  beg  that  you  will  glance  at 
that  hunting-book,  so  that  when  I  have  done  with 
Monsieur  de  Bardelys  you  may  give  me  your  im- 
pressions of  it." 


272  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

La  Fosse  fell  back,  obedient  but  unabashed,  and, 
moving  to  a  table  by  the  window,  he  opened  the  book 
Louis  had  pointed  out. 

"Now,  Marcel,  while  that  buffoon  prepares  to  in- 
form me  that  the  book  has  been  inspired  by  Diana 
herself,  tell  me  what  else  you  have  to  tell." 

"Naught  else,  Sire." 

"  How  naught .''  What  of  this  Vicomte  de  Lavedan  ? " 

"Surely  Your  Majesty  is  satisfied  that  there  is  no 
charge  —  no  heedful  charge  —  against  him?" 

"Aye,  but  there  is  a  charge  —  a  very  heedful  one. 
And  so  far  you  have  afforded  me  no  proofs  of  his 
innocence  to  warrant  my  sanctioning  his  enlarge- 
ment." 

"I  had  thought,  Sire,  that  it  would  be  unnecessary 
to  advance  proofs  of  his  innocence  until  there  were 
proofs  of  his  guilt  to  be  refuted.  It  is  unusual.  Your 
Majesty,  to  apprehend  a  gentleman  so  that  he  may 
show  cause  why  he  did  not  deserve  such  apprehension. 
The  more  usual  course  is  to  arrest  him  because  there 
are  proofs  of  his  guilt  to  be  preferred  against  him." 

Louis  combed  his  beard  pensively,  and  his  melan- 
choly eyes  grew  thoughtful. 

"A  nice  point.  Marcel,"  said  he,  and  he  yawned. 
"A  nice  point.  You  should  have  been  a  lawyer." 
Then,  with  an  abrupt  change  of  manner,  "Do  you 
give  me  your  word  of  honour  that  he  is  innocent.'*"  he 
asked  sharply. 

"If  Your  Majesty's  judges  offer  proof  of  his  guilt,  I 
give  you  my  word  that  I  will  tear  that  proof  to  pieces." 

"That  is  not  an  answer.  Do  you  swear  his  inno- 
cence?" 

"Do  I  know  what  he  carries  in  his  conscience?*' 


LOUIS  THE  JUST  273 

quoth  I,  still  fencing  with  the  question.  "How  can  I 
give  my  word  in  such  a  matter?  Ah,  Sire,  it  is  not  for 
nothing  that  they  call  you  Louis  the  Just,"  I  pursued, 
adopting  cajolery  and  presenting  him  with  his  own 
favourite  phrase.  "You  will  never  allow  a  man  against 
whom  there  is  no  shred  of  evidence  to  be  confined  in 
prison." 

"Is  there  not?"  he  questioned.  Yet  his  tone  grew 
gentler.  History,  he  had  promised  himself,  should 
know  him  as  Louis  the  Just,  and  he  would  do  naught 
that  might  jeopardize  his  claim  to  that  proud  title. 
"There  is  the  evidence  of  this  Saint-Eustache!" 

"Would  Your  Majesty  hang  a  dog  upon  the  word  of 
that  double  traitor?" 

"Hum!  You  are  a  great  advocate,  Marcel.  You 
avoid  answering  questions;  you  turn  questions  aside 
by  counter-questions."  He  seemed  to  be  talking  more 
to  himself  than  tome.  "You  are  a  much  better  ad- 
vocate than  the  Vicomte's  wife,  for  instance.  She 
answers  questions  and  has  a  temper  —  Ciel!  what  a 
temper!" 

"You  have  seen  the  Vicomtesse?"  I  exclaimed,  and 
I  grew  cold  with  apprehension,  knowing  as  I  did  the 
licence  of  that  woman's  tongue. 

"Seen  her?"  he  echoed  whimsically.  "I  have  seen 
her,  heard  her,  well-nigh  felt  her.  The  air  of  this  room 
is  still  disturbed  as  a  consequence  of  her  presence.  She 
was  here  an  hour  ago." 

"And  it  seemed,"  lisped  La  Fosse,  turning  from  his 
hunting-book,  "as  if  the  three  daughters  of  Acheron 
had  quitted  the  domain  of  Pluto  to  take  embodiment 
in  a  single  woman." 

"  I  would  not  have  seen  her,"  the  King  resumed  as 


274  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

though  La  Fosse  had  not  spoken,  "but  she  would  not 
be  denied.  I  heard  her  voice  blaspheming  in  the  ante- 
chamber when  I  refused  to  receive  her;  there  was  a 
commotion  at  my  door;  it  was  dashed  open,  and  the 
Swiss  who  held  it  was  hurled  into  my  room  here  as 
though  he  had  been  a  mannikin.  Dieu!  Since  I  have 
reigned  in  France  I  have  not  been  the  centre  of  so 
much  commotion.  She  is  a  strong  woman,  Marcel  — 
the  saints  defend  you  hereafter,  when  she  shall  come 
to  be  your  mother-in-law.  In  all  France,  I'll  swear, 
her  tongue  is  the  only  stouter  thing  than  her  arm. 
But  she's  a  fool." 

"What  did  she  say,  Sire?"  I  asked  in  my  anxiety. 

"Say?  She  swore  —  Ciel!  how  she  did  swear!  Not 
a  saint  in  the  calendar  would  she  let  rest  in  peace;  she 
dragged  them  all  by  turns  from  their  chapter-rolls  to 
bear  witness  to  the  truth  of  what  she  said." 

"That  was  — " 

"That  her  husband  was  the  foulest  traitor  out  of 
hell.  But  that  he  was  a  fool  with  no  wit  of  his  own  to 
make  him  accountable  for  what  he  did,  and  that  out 
of  folly  he  had  gone  astray.  Upon  those  grounds  she 
besought  me  to  forgive  him  and  let  him  go.  When  I 
told  her  that  he  must  stand  his  trial,  and  that  I  could 
offer  her  but  little  hope  of  his  acquittal,  she  told  me 
things  about  myself,  which  in  my  conceit,  and  thanks 
to  you  flatterers  who  have  surrounded  me,  I  had  never 
dreamed. 

"She  told  me  I  was  ugly,  sour-faced,  and  mal- 
formed; that  I  was  priest-ridden  and  a  fool;  unlike 
my  brother,  who,  she  assured  me,  is  a  mirror  of 
chivalry  and  manly  perfections.  She  promised  me 
that  Heaven  should  never  receive  my  soul,  though  I 


LOUIS  THE  JUST  275 

told  my  beads  from  now  till  Doomsday,  and  she 
prophesied  for  me  a  welcome  among  the  damned 
when  my  time  comes.  What  more  she  might  have 
foretold  I  cannot  say.  She  wearied  me  at  last,  for  all 
her  novelty,  and  I  dismissed  her  —  that  is  to  say,"  he 
amended, "  I  ordered  four  musketeers  to  carry  her  out. 
Grod  pity  you.  Marcel,  when  you  become. her  daugh- 
ter's husband!" 

But  I  had  no  heart  to  enter  into  his  jocularity. 
This  woman  with  her  ungovernable  passion  and  her 
rash  tongue  had  destroyed  everything. 

"I  see  no  likelihood  of  being  her  daughter's  hus- 
band," I  answered  mournfully. 

The  King  looked  up,  and  laughed.  "  Down  on  your 
knees,  then,"  said  he,  "  and  render  thanks  to  Heaven." 

But  I  shook  my  head  very  soberly.  "To  Your 
Majesty  it  is  a  pleasing  comedy,"  said  I,  "but  to  me, 
helas!  it  is  nearer  far  to  tragedy." 

"Come,  Marcel,"  said  he,  "may  I  not  laugh  a  little? 
One  grows  so  sad  with  being  King  of  France!  Tell  me 
what  vexes  you." 

"Mademoiselle  de  Lavedan  has  promised  that  she 
will  marry  me  only  when  I  have  saved  her  father  from 
the  scaffold.  I  came  to  do  it,  very  full  of  hope.  Sire. 
But  his  wife  has  forestalled  me  and,  seemingly, 
doomed  him  irrevocably." 

His  glance  fell ;  his  countenance  resumed  its  habitual 
gloom.  Then  he  looked  up  again,  and  in  the  melan- 
choly depths  of  his  eyes  I  saw  a  gleam  of  something 
that  was  very  like  affection. 

"  You  know  that  I  love  you.  Marcel,"  he  said  gently. 
"Were  you  my  own  son  I  could  not  love  you  more. 
You   are   a  profligate,   dissolute  knave,   and  your 


276  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

scandals  have  rung  in  my  ears  more  than  once ;  yet 
you  are  different  from  these  other  fools,  and  at  least 
you  have  never  wearied  me.  To  have  done  that  is  to 
have  done  something.  I  would  not  lose  you,  Marcel; 
as  lose  you  I  shall  if  you  marry  this  rose  of  Languedoc, 
for  I  take  it  that  she  is  too  sweet  a  flower  to  let  wither 
in  the  stale  atmosphere  of  Courts.  This  man,  this 
Vicomte  de  Lavedan,  has  earned  his  death.  Why 
should  I  not  let  him  die,  since  if  he  dies  you  will  not 
wed?" 

"  Do  you  ask  me  why.  Sire? "  said  I.  "  Because  they 
call  you  Louis  the  Just,  and  because  no  king  was  ever 
more  deserving  of  the  title." 

He  winced;  he  pursed  his  lips,  and  shot  a  glance 
at  La  Fosse,  who  was  deep  in  the  mysteries  of  his 
volume.  Then  he  drew  towards  him  a  sheet  of  paper, 
and,  taking  a  quill,  he  sat  toying  with  it. 

"  Because  they  call  me  the  Just,  I  must  let  Justice 
take  its  course,"  he  answered  presently. 

"  But,"  I  objected,  with  a  sudden  hope,  "  the  course 
of  justice  cannot  lead  to  the  headsman  in  the  case  of 
the  Vicomte  de  Lavedan." 

"Why  not?"  And  his  solemn  eyes  met  mine  across 
the  table. 

"  Because  he  took  no  active  part  in  the  revolt.  If  he 
was  a  traitor,  he  was  no  more  than  a  traitor  at  heart, 
and  until  a  man  commits  a  crime  in  deed  he  is  not 
amenable  to  the  law's  rigour.  His  wife  has  made  his 
defection  clear;  but  it  were  unfair  to  punish  him  in  the 
same  measure  as  you  punish  those  who  bore  arms 
against  you.  Sire." 

"Ah!"  he  pondered.   "Well?  What  more?" 

"Is  that  not  enough,  Sire?"  I  cried.  My  heart  beat 


LOUTS  THE  JUST  277 

quickly,  and  my  pulses  throbbed  with  the  suspense  of 
that  portentous  moment. 

He  bent  his  head,  dipped  his  pen  and  began  to 
write. 

"What  punishment  would  you  have  me  mete  out  to 
him?"  he  asked  as  he  wrote.  "Come,  Marcel,  deal 
fairly  with  me,  and  deal  fairly  with  him  —  for  as  you 
deal  with  him,  so  shall  I  deal  with  you  through  him." 

I  felt  myself  paling  in  my  excitement.  "There  is 
banishment.  Sire  —  it  is  usual  in  cases  of  treason  that 
are  not  sufficiently  flagrant  to  be  punished  by  death." 

"Yes!"  He  wrote  busily.  "Banishment  for  how 
long,  Marcel?  For  his  lifetime?" 

"Nay,  Sire.  That  were  too  long." 

"For  my  lifetime,  then?" 

"Again  that  were  too  long." 

He  raised  his  eyes  and  smiled.  "Ah!  You  turn 
prophet?  Well,  for  how  long,  then?  Come,  man." 

"I  should  think  five  years  — " 

"Five  years  be  it.  Say  no  more." 

He  wrote  on  for  a  few  moments;  then  he  raised  the 
sandbox  and  sprinkled  the  document. 

"Tiens!"  he  cried,  as  he  dusted  it  and  held  it  out  to 
me.  "There  is  my  warrant  for  the  disposal  of  Mon- 
sieur le  Vicomte  Leon  de  Lavedan.  He  is  to  go  into 
banishment  for  five  years,  but  his  estates  shall  sufi^er 
no  sequestration,  and  at  the  end  of  that  period  he  may 
return  and  enjoy  them  —  we  hope  with  better  loyalty 
than  in  the  past.  Get  them  to  execute  that  warrant  at 
once,  and  see  that  the  Vicomte  starts  to-day  under 
escort  for  Spain.  It  will  also  be  your  warrant  to 
Mademoiselle  de  Lavedan,  and  will  afford  proof  to  her 
that  your  mission  has  been  successful." 


ayS  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT  ~ 

"Sire!"  I  cried.  And  in  my  gratitude  I  could  say 
no  more,  but  I  sank  on  my  knee  before  him  and  raised 
his  hand  to  my  lips. 

"There,"  said  he  in  a  fatherly  voice.  "Go  now,  and 
be  happy." 

As  I  rose,  he  suddenly  put  up  his  hand. 

"Ma  foi,  I  had  all  but  forgotten,  so  much  has  Mon- 
sieur de  Lavedan's  fate  preoccupied  us."  He  picked 
up  another  paper  from  his  table,  and  tossed  it  to 
me.  It  was  my  note  of  hand  to  Chatellerault  for  my 
Picardy  estates. 

"Chatellerault  died  this  morning,"  the  King  pur- 
sued. "He  had  been  asking  to  see  you,  but  when  he 
was  told  that  you  had  left  Toulouse,  he  dictated  a  long 
confession  of  his  misdeeds,  which  he  sent  to  me  to- 
gether with  this  note  of  yours.  He  could  not,  he  wrote, 
permit  his  heirs  to  enjoy  your  estates;  he  had  not  won 
them;  he  had  really  forfeited  his  own  stakes,  since  he 
had  broken  the  rules  of  play.  He  has  left  me  to  deliver 
judgment  in  the  matter  of  his  own  lands  passing  into 
your  possession.  What  do  you  say  to  it.  Marcel?" 

It  was  almost  with  reluctance  that  I  took  up  that 
scrap  of  paper.  It  had  been  so  fine  and  heroic  a  thing 
to  have  cast  my  wealth  to  the  winds  of  heaven  for 
love's  sake,  that  on  my  soul  I  was  loath  to  see  myself 
master  of  more  than  Beaugency.  Then  a  compromise 
suggested  itself. 

"The  wager.  Sire,"  said  I,  "is  one  that  I  take  shame 
in  having  entered  upon;  that  shame  made  me  eager  to 
pay  it,  although  fully  conscious  that  I  had  not  lost. 
But  even  now,  I  cannot,  in  any  case,  accept  the  forfeit 
Chatellerault  was  willing  to  suffer.  Shall  we  —  shall 
we  forget  that  the  wager  was  ever  laid? " 


LOUIS  THE  JUST  279 

"The  decision  does  you  honour.  It  was  what  I  had 
hoped  from  you.  Go  now,  Marcel.  I  doubt  me  you 
are  eager.  When  your  love-sickness  wanes  a  little  we 
shall  hope  to  see  you  at  Court  again." 

I  sighed.   "Helas,  Sire,  that  would  be  never." 

"So  you  said  once  before,  monsieur.  It  is  a  foolish 
spirit  upon  which  to  enter  into  matrimony;  yet  —  like 
many  follies  —  a  fine  one.  Adieu,  Marcel!" 

"Adieu,  Sire!" 

I  had  kissed  his  hands;  I  had  poured  forth  my 
thanks;  I  had  reached  the  door  already,  and  he  was  in 
the  act  of  turning  to  La  Fosse,  when  it  came  into  my 
head  to  glance  at  the  warrant  he  had  given  me.  He 
noticed  this  and  my  sudden  halt. 

"Is  aught  amiss?"  he  asked. 

"You  —  you  have  omitted  something.  Sire,"  I  ven- 
tured, and  I  returned  to  the  table.  "I  am  already 
so  grateful  that  I  hesitate  to  ask  an  additional  favour. 
Yet  it  is  but  troubling  you  to  add  a  few  strokes  of  the 
pen,  and  it  will  not  materially  affect  the  sentence 
itself." 

He  glanced  at  me,  and  his  brows  drew  together  as 
he  sought  to  guess  my  meaning. 

"Well,  man,  what  is  it?"  he  demanded  impati- 
ently. 

"It  has  occurred  to  me  that  this  poor  Vicomte,  in  a 
strange  land,  alone,  among  strange  faces,  missing  th? 
loved  ones  that  for  so  many  years  he  has  seen  daily  by 
his  side,  will  be  pitiably  lonely." 

The  King's  glance  was  lifted  suddenly  to  my  face. 
"Must  I  then  banish  his  family  as  well?" 

"All  of  it  will  not  be  necessary.  Your  Majesty." 

For  once  his  eyes  lost  their  melancholy,  and  as 


28o  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

hearty  a  burst  of  laughter  as  ever  I  heard  from  that 
poor,  weary  gentleman  he  vented  then. 

"Ciel!  what  a  jester  you  are!  Ah,  but  I  shall  miss 
you!"  he  cried,  as,  seizing  the  pen,  he  added  the  word 
I  craved  of  him. 

"Are  you  content  at  last?"  he  asked,  returning  the 
paper  to  me. 

I  glanced  at  it.  The  warrant  now  stipulated  that 
Madame  la  Vicomtesse  de  Lavedan  should  bear  her 
husband  company  in  his  exile. 

"Sire,  you  are  too  good!"  I  murmured. 

"Tell  the  officer  to  whom  you  entrust  the  execution 
of  this  warrant  that  he  will  find  the  lady  in  the  guard- 
room below,  where  she  is  being  detained,  pending  my 
pleasure.  Did  she  but  know  that  it  was  your  pleasure 
she  has  been  waiting  upon,  I  should  tremble  for  your 
future  when  the  five  years  expire." 


CHAPTER  XXII 
WE  UNSADDLE 

MADEMOISELLE  held  the  royal  warrant  of  her 
father's  banishment  in  her  hand.  She  was  pale, 
and  her  greeting  of  me  had  been  timid.  I  stood  before 
her,  and  by  the  door  stood  Rodenard,  whom  I  had 
bidden  attend  me. 

As  I  had  approached  Lavedan  that  day,  I  had  been 
taken  with  a  great,  an  overwhelming  shame  at  the  bar- 
gain I  had  driven.  I  had  pondered,  and  it  had  come  to 
me  that  she  had  been  right  to  suggest  that  in  matters 
of  love  what  is  not  freely  given  it  is  not  worth  while  to 
take.  And  out  of  my  shame  and  that  conclusion  had 
sprung  a  new  resolve.  So  that  nothing  might  weaken 
it,  and  lest,  after  all,  the  sight  of  Roxalanne  should 
bring  me  so  to  desire  her  that  I  might  be  tempted  to 
override  my  purpose,  I  had  deemed  it  well  to  have  the 
restraint  of  a  witness  at  our  last  interview.  To  this  end 
had  I  bidden  Ganymede  follow  me  into  the  very  salon. 

She  read  the  document  to  the  very  end,  then  her 
glance  was  raised  timidly  again  to  mine,  and  from  me 
it  shifted  to  Ganymede,  stiff  at  his  post  by  the  door. 

"This  was  the  best  that  you  could  do,  monsieur?" 
she  asked  at  last. 

"The  very  best,  mademoiselle,"  I  answered  calmly. 
"I  do  not  wish  to  magnify  my  service,  but  it  was  that 
or  the  scaffold.  Madame  your  mother  had,  un- 
fortunately, seen  the  King  before  me,  and  she  had 


282  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

prejudiced  your  father's  case  by  admitting  him  to  be  a 
traitor.  There  was  a  moment  when  in  view  of  that  I 
was  almost  led  to  despair.  I  am  glad,  however,  made- 
moiselle, that  I  was  so  fortunate  as  to  persuade  the 
King  to  just  so  much  clemency." 

"And  for  five  years,  then,  I  shall  not  see  my  par- 
ents."   She  sighed,  and  her  distress  was  very  touching. 

"That  need  not  be.  Though  they  may  not' come  to 
France,  it  still  remains  possible  for  you  to  visit  them 
in  Spain." 

"True,"  she  mused;  "that  will  be  something  — 
will  it  not?" 

"Assuredly  something;  under  the  circumstances, 
much." 

She  sighed  again,  and  for  a  moment  there  was 
silence. 

"Will  you  not  sit,  monsieur?"  said  she  at  last.  She 
was  very  quiet  to-day,  this  little  maid  —  very  quiet 
and  very  wondrously  subdued. 

"There  is  scarce  the  need,"  I  answered  softly; 
whereupon  her  eyes  were  raised  to  ask  a  hundred 
questions.  "You  are  satisfied  with  my  efforts,  made- 
moiselle?" I  inquired. 

"Yes,  I  am  satisfied,  monsieur." 

That  was  the  end,  I  told  myself,  and  involuntarily  I 
also  sighed.   Still,  I  made  no  shift  to  go. 

"You  are  satisfied  that  I  —  that  I  have  fulfilled 
what  I  promised?" 

Her  eyes  were  again  cast  down,  and  she  took  a  step 
in  the  direction  of  the  window. 

"But  yes.  Your  promise  was  to  save  my  father 
from  the  scaffold.  You  have  done  so,  and  I  make  no 
doubt  you  have  done  as  much  to  reduce  the  term  of 


WE  UNSADDLE  283 

his  banishment  as  lay  within  your  power.  Yes,  mon- 
sieur, I  am  satisfied  that  your  promise  has  been  well 
fulfilled." 

Heigho!  The  resolve  that  I  had  formed  in  coming 
whispered  it  in  my  ear  that  nothing  remained  but  to 
withdraw  and  go  my  way.  Yet  not  for  all  that  resolve 
—  not  for  a  hundred  such  resolves  —  could  I  have 
gone  thus.  One  kindly  word,  one  kindly  glance  at 
least  would  I  take  to  comfort  me.  I  would  tell  her  in 
plain  words  of  my  purpose,  and  she  should  see  that 
there  was  still  some  good,  some  sense  of  honour  in  me, 
and  thus  should  esteem  me  after  I  was  gone. 

"Ganymede,"  said  I. 

"Monseigneur?" 

"  Bid  the  men  mount." 

At  that  she  turned,  wonder  opening  her  eyes  very 
wide,  and  her  glance  travelled  from  me  to  Rodenard 
with  its  unspoken  question.  But  even  as  she  looked  at 
him  he  bowed  and,  turning  to  do  my  bidding,  left  the 
room.  We  heard  his  steps  pass  with  a  jingle  of  spurs 
across  the  hall  and  out  into  the  courtyard.  We  heard 
his  raucous  voice  utter  a  word  of  command,  and  there 
was  a  stamping  of  hoofs,  a  champing  of  harness,  and 
all  the  bustle  of  preparation. 

"Why  have  you  ordered  your  men  to  mount?"  she 
asked  at  last. 

"Because  my  business  here  is  ended,  and  we  are 
going." 

"Going ? "  said  she.  Her  eyes  were  lowered  now,  but 
a  frown  suggested  their  expression  to  me.  "Going 
whither?" 

"Hence,"  I  answered.  "That  for  the  moment  is  all 
that  signifies."  I  paused  to  swallow  something  that 


284  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

hindered  a  clear  utterance.   Then,  "Adieu!"  said  I, 
and  I  abruptly  put  forth  my  hand. 

Her  glance  met  mine  fearlessly,  if  puzzled. 

"Do  you  mean,  monsieur,  that  you  are  leaving 
Lavedan  —  thus.''" 

"So  that  I  leave,  what  signifies  the  manner  of  my 
going?" 

"But"  —  the  trouble  grew  in  her  eyes;  her  cheeks 
seemed  to  wax  paler  than  they  had  been  —  "  but  I 
thought  that  —  that  we  made  a  bargain." 

"'Sh!  mademoiselle,  I  implore  you,"  I  cried.  "I 
take  shame  at  the  memory  of  it.  Almost  as  much 
shame  as  I  take  at  the  memory  of  that  other  bargain 
which  first  brought  me  to  Lavedan.  The  shame  of  the 
former  one  I  have  wiped  out  —  although,  perchance, 
you  think  it  not.  I  am  wiping  out  the  shame  of  the 
latter  one.  It  was  unworthy  in  me,  mademoiselle,  but 
I  loved  you  so  dearly  that  it  seemed  to  me  that  no 
matter  how  I  came  by  you,  I  should  rest  content  if  I 
but  won  you.  I  have  since  seen  the  error  if  it,  the  in- 
justice of  it.  I  will  not  take  what  is  not  freely  given 
And  so,  farewell." 

"I  see,  I  see,"  she  murmured,  and  ignored  the  hand 
that  I  held  out.   "I  am  very  glad  of  it,  monsieur." 

I  withdrew  my  hand  sharply.  I  took  up  my  hat 
from  the  chair  on  which  I  had  cast  it.  She  might  have 
spared  me  that,  I  thought.  She  need  not  have  pro- 
fessed joy.  At  least  she  might  have  taken  my  hand 
and  parted  in  kindness. 

"Adieu,  mademoiselle!"  I  said  again,  as  stiffly  as 
might  be,  and  I  turned  towards  the  door. 

"Monsieur!"  she  called  after  me.  I  halted. 

"Mademoiselle?" 


WE  UNSADDLE  285 

She  stood  demurely,  with  eyes  downcast  and  hands 
folded.   "I  shall  be  so  lonely  here." 

I  stood  still.  I  seemed  to  stiffen.  My  heart  gave  a 
mad  throb  of  hope,  then  seemed  to  stop.  What  did 
she  mean  ?  I  faced  her  fully  once  more,  and,  I  doubt 
not,  I  was  very  pale.  Yet  lest  vanity  should  befool 
me,  I  dared  not  act  upon  suspicions.  And  so  — 

"True,  mademoiselle,"  said  I.  "You  will  be  lonely. 
I  regret  it." 

As  silence  followed,  I  turned  again  to  the  door,  and 
my  hopes  sank  with  each  step  in  that  direction. 

"Monsieur!" 

Her  voice  arrested  me  upon  the  very  threshold. 

"What  shall  a  poor  girl  do  with  this  great  estate 
upon  her  hands?  It  will  go  to  ruin  without  a  man  to 
govern  it." 

"You  must  not  attempt  the  task.  You  must  em- 
ploy an  intendant." 

I  caught  something  that  sounded  oddly  like  a  sob. 
Could  it  be?  Dieu!  could  it  be,  after  all?  Yet  I  would 
not  presume.  I  half  turned  again,  but  her  voice 
detained  me.   It  came  petulantly  now. 

"Monsieur  de  Bardelys,  you  have  kept  your 
promise  nobly.   Will  you  ask  no  payment?" 

"No,  mademoiselle,"  I  answered  very  softly;  "I 
can  take  no  payment." 

Her  eyes  were  lifted  for  a  second.  Their  blue  depths 
seemed  dim.   Then  they  fell  again. 

"Oh,  why  will  you  not  help  me?"  she  burst  out,  to 
add  more  softly:  "I  shall  never  be  happy  without 
you!" 

"You  mean?"  I  gasped,  retracing  a  step,  and  fling- 
ing my  hat  in  a  corner. 


386  BARDELYS  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

"That  I  love  you,  Marcel  —  that  I  want  you!" 

"And  you  can  forgive  —  you  can  forgive?"  I  cried, 
as  I  caught  her. 

Her  answer  was  a  laugh  that  bespoke  her  scorn  of 
everything  —  of  everything  save  us  two,  of  every- 
thing save  our  love.  That  and  the  pout  of  her  red 
lips  was  her  answer.  And  if  the  temptation  of  those 
lips  —  But  there!  I  grow  indiscreet. 

Still  holding  her,  I  raised  my  voice. 

"Ganymede!"  I  called. 

"  Monseigneur?"  came  his  answer  through  the  open 
window. 

"Bid  those  knaves  dismount  and  unsaddle." 


THE  END 


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